


Scenes from an Alliance

by Interrobam



Category: What We Do in the Shadows (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Arranged Marriage, Blood Drinking, Canon Typical Flippancy About Nandor’s Various and Sundry Crimes Against Humanity, Canon-Typical Perversion, Canon-Typical Violence, Competent Guillermo de la Cruz, Competent Nandor the Relentless, Dorks in Love, Historical Inaccuracy, Human/Vampire Relationship, M/M, Miscommunication, Mutual Pining, Nandor’s Chronic Incurable Foot In Mouth Disease, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Political Alliances, Political Marriage, Slow Burn, Vaguely Medieval Fantasy Setting, Vampire Slayer(s), Vampires, We Don’t Have Time To Unpack All That
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-04
Updated: 2021-03-02
Packaged: 2021-03-03 05:40:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 40
Words: 79,243
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24189814
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Interrobam/pseuds/Interrobam
Summary: " Guillermo met his eyes across the courtyard, and for a moment the human was grave and resolute as a warrior in battle, resigned to his fate yet defiant to its circumstances. For a moment Nandor imagined this meeting as the start of a war rather than a courtship, and for that moment he felt as if he'd found his footing again.But then the human had done something outrageous.Then the human hadsmiled. "In the end, when all was said and done, the marriage of Nandor the Relentless and Guillermo de la Cruz would be remembered as a pivotal and defining moment in the history of human and vampiric society alike.In the beginning, however, it was mostly just a mess.
Relationships: Guillermo de la Cruz/Nandor the Relentless
Comments: 1402
Kudos: 689





	1. Proposition

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Nandor has an unwanted work assignment bestowed upon him.

Nandor the Relentless stood before his Empress in the throne room of the Temple of Blood Devourers, the most ancient and grand seat of power in all of the Unholy Revenant Empire of Daptes, and tried to figure out the best way of explaining to her that she had made a terrible mistake.

Nandor shifted on his feet, his armor creaking with the motion. The crevasses of his plate maille were still soiled with the dirt and blood of the human kingdom that he had so recently returned from invading. Seeing as this newly completed campaign had been waged at the direct orders of the Empress, Nandor had expected it to be the focus of their conference. That was how it usually went. Nandor would come back to the capital from a successful invasion and meet with the Empress immediately upon his arrival. He would give a perfunctory report of the campaign’s difficulties and successes, list the number of prisoners claimed and any other major prizes of war plundered, receive a word or two of appreciation from her Unholiness, be dismissed, put his helmet back on, and go home. The next time the Empire needed a fresh supply of victims, or just wished a people to be subjugated to its will, she would call upon him, and he would go. 

He had never been involved in the _politics_ of it, the questioning and explaining of who-are-we-slaughtering and why-they-are-to-be-slaughtered. He had doubts that there was any citizen of their Unholy Empire who could directly question Empress Tilda’s judgement without getting their head cut off. Even if there was such a vampire, it would not be Nandor. He was conqueror of thousands and High Commander of the Imperial Army, but he was not a vampire of finesse or subtlety of word. This was one of many reasons why he typically avoided involvement in the politics of the Empire. This was also one of many reasons why he was quite certain her Unholiness had made the worst possible decision in assigning _him_ to this duty. He rubbed the cheek piece of his helmet with the pad of his thumb and chanced a glance upwards at where the Empress perched upon her throne. She wore a pleased grin upon her face as she awaited his reaction to the news of his newest assignment.

Nandor decided that to explicitly express doubts about his Empress’ reasoning would not be a good move on his part. But he had to say _something_. Ultimately, after seconds of contemplation that felt more like hours, he managed to verbalize an only somewhat strangled reply.

“ _Me_?”

"Indeed!" Empress Tilda decreed, raising her gloved hands into the air in a dramatic flourish. "It is _you_ , Nandor the Relentless, on whom this unprecedented honor will be bestowed. You who will further the imperial reach and glorious legacy of our grand and undying Empire through this bold new alliance.”

"Great," Nandor said, not feeling at all that the situation described was in any way shape or form ‘great.’

“Now, I know this might take some adjustment,” Empress Tilda allowed, “given you are used to the old fashioned way of doing things. But this is what the Empire needs. I’ve spoken extensively with my council and the diplomatic court, and this is our best way forward if we want to deal with the human problem. We’ve known that for a while now. What we hadn’t known was who we should entrust to carry out such an assignment.”

“Right,” Nandor said. “And, just so I am understanding, how is it that _I_ was chosen as the ideal candidate for a political marriage, again?

“Well there were many reasons, of course, but I suppose the biggest draw was your reputation among humans. You have _quite_ the reputation among the humans, you know.”

"Because they are afraid of me, yes, I do know that," Nandor replied. “Yet… I would have thought such a thing would make me _undesirable_ as a candidate for the making of the diplomacy to the humans.” Nandor clung to a faint hope that perhaps, by him saying these words aloud, the Empress might suddenly realize how preposterous the whole idea was and retract her decision. But instead her grin magnified, and she spread her arms as if beckoning for an embrace.

“Ah, but, you see, that is _exactly_ your appeal.”

“My appeal to the humans... is that I am undesirable,” Nandor clarified, feeling that his fingernails were scrambling at the cliff’s edge of reason.

“It’s the appeal to _us_ , Nandor.” Empress Tilda returned her hands to her lap. “You see, I’ll bet you’re thinking what we’d been thinking. You’re thinking ‘why not get someone who’s, you know, pathetic. An energy vampire, maybe. A candidate that the humans would find more palatable.’ We thought that too. But then the possibility was raised by our new chief negotiator that the _optic_ of selecting a more harmless candidate was bad. I used that right, didn't I? Optic?” she asked aside to her chief advisor, Viago, who stood next to her throne and nodded in fawning affirmation.

“Stavros the Clever is no longer chief negotiator?” Nandor asked, not having heard this news yet. He also had not heard what an optic was, but he was hoping perhaps he wouldn’t need to know that part. 

“Oh no, it’s that wunderkid Simon the Devious now,” Empress Tilda affirmed. “He’s quite good, you know. No one else had thought about the optic.” 

It was increasingly sounding as if Nandor was going to be forced to learn what optic was. Some new version of coptic? The humans were always inventing all these damned languages all the time.

“You see, Nandor,” her Unholiness continued, “making a move like that, choosing someone pathetic, would be too much of an obvious compromise on our side. Make us look too eager, you know, like some kind of capeless tart. Bring up the idea that we’re stooping to forming an alliance with mortals because we _have_ to, that they’ve got us on the ropes or something.” She shuddered at the thought. “He pointed out that if we made the humans instead accept a vampire that no human in their right mind would agree to be in the same room with, nonetheless marry, it would make it obvious to everyone that _we_ are the true seat of power in the alliance. Less marriage of equals, more human sacrifice.”

“It’s called a _flex_ ,” Viago contributed, leaning forward with an expression of delight. “Simon invented it.” Nandor would have to remember to kill Simon the Devious at some point. He did not have a pen and paper with which to make the note, so he focused on the thought very hard in the hopes of making it stick. _To Murder: Simon the Devious._ “We did worry for a while that it wouldn’t work, but it went much better than we’d even dared to hope.”

“Yes, you were our starting point, you know,” Empress Tilda added. “They were supposed to negotiate us down. Can you believe that, Nandor? That they didn’t negotiate us down from _you_?”

“Wow,” Nandor said, making a note to kill the human ambassador as well. Maybe he could get Simon the Devious and Human the Ambassador in the same room under the pretext of negotiations and then set it on fire. The damage had already been done, so it would be cold comfort, but it might cheer him a bit to hear their dying screams of anguish.

“We had thrown around the idea of assigning you to act as the human’s bodyguard anyway-- you among our citizens have the most victories in battle against our own kind and thus would be most capable of defending the human against assassination attempts-- so it worked out very well. A two-in-one.”

“Assassination attempts?” Nandor echoed. The Empress’ face fell slightly, her glib cheer dissipating.

“The idea of our Empire entering into an alliance, even so much as a truce, with a human kingdom is not universally popular. There are vampires who would wish to thwart our efforts.”

“I... suppose they might ask, why should we not simply _invade_ these humans and _crush_ them under the might of our _heel_?” Nandor asked in what he hoped was a casual tone of innocent curiosity. 

“They do ask that,” Empress Tilda said. Her mouth curved back upwards into an affable smile but her dark golden eyes sharpened, as if pinning Nandor down like a specimen to paper. “And I say to them that we have _tried_ invading these particular humans for _centuries_ now. They have been remarkably resilient, and it’s not just because of those pesky waterways. They have an entire family’s worth of Van Helsing’s heirs.” 

“One of them killed Carol, you know,” Viago interjected. “One singular slayer did, that is. Just one guy, all alone. Killed Carol. One guy.”

“Right, they did.” The Empress nodded to Viago before turning back to Nandor and gesturing to Viago as if to say ‘you see?’. 

“You have not sent _me_ to invade them,” Nandor observed.

“They killed _Carol_ , Nandor,” the Empress said, raising her brow in a befittingly imperious manner. “Carol the _Slayersbane_.”

“You were off on a more important campaign anyway,” Viago noted with a delicate tilt of his hand by the wrist. “Didn’t want to bother you.”

“Yes, and now you are back. You are back, and we’ve already started to arrange it, and the diplomatic court is quite excited about the whole thing. Especially to have you as our representative. What say you, then, Nandor? Do you accept your duty as vassal of the Empire?”

Nandor really really _really_ would rather not. But even if he would not suffer ire for turning down the appointment (and he certainly would), he likely would still be stuck as bodyguard to the human anyway. And if he was not, if they gave the assignment to another vampire, that vampire could end up letting the human be killed, or worse yet succumb to bloodlust and kill them themselves. That would prove a diplomatic catastrophe, something that could weaken the Empire’s standing among the revenant nations, and Nandor would end up having to deal with it anyway.

“It’s fine, I guess,” he said.

“Then it's settled,” the Empress decreed, clapping her hands together. “And really,” she added, leaning forward with a grin, “there’s no need to look so _sour_ , Nandor. This is basically a little vacation for you. All you have to do is sign a few papers, go through a ceremony, and keep the human alive for its natural lifespan. How long could it live anyway? A hundred years? Two hundred at most, surely.” She looked aside at Viago for confirmation.

“Two hundred at _most_ , I am certain, your Unholiness,” he assured her.

“Right. It’ll be over before you know it,” she said cheerfully. “And in the meanwhile, you get a cute little human pet to show off at parties. A scrumptious little virgin too, if Simon can swing it for you.”

The prospect of virgin blood made Nandor’s mouth go dry. He swallowed with some difficulty.

“Is it really so wise to have Simon ask for a virgin, given the human is already going to be a target?” _And given I am going to be expected to resist draining him dry?_ He added in the privacy of his mind.

“Well, you’ll be marrying it, so it won’t be a virgin for long,” her Unholiness pointed out. She and Viago shared a glance and a chuckle which Nandor distinctly did not participate in. Now he would be expected to have _sex_ with the human, as well as keep it alive?

“Right, well… If there’s nothing else my Empress Requires of me…” Nandor began, thinking that he would like very much to go home and cut some furniture into pieces with a sword now.

“Oh, yes of course, you are dismissed.” 

Nandor bowed, replaced his helmet and turned to leave.

“Before you go, Nandor,” Empress Tilda called, halting him in his tracks, “you should know that Nadja and Laszlo live in your house now.”

“Understood,” Nandor replied reflexively, preoccupied in thoughts of tempered steel and hardwood splinters, before registering her words and spinning back around. “Wait, _what_?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As of now I'm tentatively hoping to update this story weekly (Tues or Wed), with chapters between 1.5 and 2k. Later chapters will include explicit content. Shoutout to the Nandermo Discord. Comments always cherished and appreciated.


	2. Forfeit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Guillermo knows what he wants.

“ _Him?_ ” Simon the Devious asked in obvious disbelief, narrowing his eyes at Guillermo as if he were a desert mirage he was trying to bring into focus. "He's an heir of Van Helsing?" The vampire looked aside to Abaddon, who seemed equal to Simon in his skepticism.

“Guillermo de la Cruz,” he introduced himself, as cheerfully as he could manage, “of the _de la Cruz_ branch of Abraham Van Helsing’s descendants,” he added, in case his surname did not make this obvious enough. “Professional vampire hunter,” he tacked on, before they could ask if he was one of those descendants that the slayer inheritance had skipped.

Guillermo forced his smile to remain upon his face, his body to keep still despite the anxious tension blooming in his chest, as the pair of vampires stared at him as if awaiting the punchline to a joke. Guillermo had been worried about the possibility of Daptes trying to rescind Nandor the Relentless as their candidate, now that their negotiators had found out his human counterpart was an heir of Van Helsing. Given that even an average human could kill a vampire with the well timed opening of a curtain, he’d expected the Empire’s leadership to have at least some misgivings about risking the life of their most valuable commander by inviting a professional vampire killer into his personal crypt. The identity of the vampire that Guillermo would enter into a union with was going to play a significant role in how bearable that marriage would be for him, and he was aware that he could do much worse than Nandor.

He realized, as he watched the last vestiges of the negotiators’ wariness vanish, their surprise morph into amused delight, that he had deeply underestimated the vampiric ego.

 _I could kill the both of you without breaking a sweat,_ Guillermo thought as he watched Simon the Devious lean close to Abbadon and mutter something that made the other vampire smirk lewdly. _I could rip the spindle out of this chair and stab it straight in your heart, pull it out and jam it into your friend’s skull through his smug mouth before your husk had even collapsed into a pile of ash on the floor_. Instead Guillermo continued to smile politely, as if the vampires weren't snickering in his face.

 _Being underestimated is an advantage_ , Guillermo reminded himself, firmly, as he tilted his head slightly and leaned forward in substitute of a bow. That’s what his amá always told him. _Embrace it, mijo, they’ll never see you coming_.

Guillermo had known, as soon as the idea of cementing an alliance between the vampiric Empire of Daptes and the human Kingdom of Trestait with a diplomatic marriage had begun to take shape, that it was going to have to be him.

The vampires would undoubtedly want a human of some status, a human they believed the kingdom at large would be invested in the welfare of. A human that would make a valuable hostage. As an heir of Van Helsing, Guillermo fit that requirement neatly. As far as Guillermo was aware the de la Cruz family was very well regarded by the other citizens in general. That might have had something to do with the fact that they more or less single handedly kept neighboring vampires from using the population of Trestait as their personal larder stock-- but Guillermo liked to think that it was at least partially because they were likeable people. (The baking might have also been another factor. His father’s side of the family were all very good bakers. He was actually a very good baker himself. Not that that would help him when it came to the vampires.)

Guillermo also expected that the vampires would demand a virgin. Though he was somewhat embarrassed about it, he also met that requirement. When you grow up in a traditionally Catholic family and spend most of your childhood obsessively studying vampires, most of your adolescence training to be a vampire hunter, and most of your adulthood hunting vampires, dating isn’t really a part of your life. He suspected it might actually be an advantage when it came to protecting citizens from attack, given that vampires seemed to consistently move him to the top of their snacking priority list as soon as he showed up.

On the simple level of survival, not every human would be able to hold their own in a household full of vampires. Guillermo was one who could. He tried not to get a big ego about it-- if only because that would make it even more annoying to be constantly underestimated-- but the thing was, he was _very_ good at his profession. He’d managed to take out the one they called _Slayersbane_ while armed only with a broken broom. If Simon the Devious knew his kill count he might change his attitude. Guillermo was tempted to bring it up, but his pride wasn’t worth the complications it might cause. The more information Trestait had that Daptes lacked, the better they’d fare in setting terms to the alliance.

These were all good reasons for Guillermo to represent his Kingdom, but they weren’t, admittedly, the first which had come to his mind when he made the decision to volunteer. The factor that had made his choice clear was realizing that, if it wasn't him, it would have to be someone else. 

And if it was someone else, it might be some poor soul who _hadn’t_ been fantasizing about being ravished by a vampire since he hit puberty.

If the way the vampires talked-- shooting innuendos and sly little glances at him as he sat quietly to the side of the table-- was any indication, they had no inkling about this being a factor in Guillermo’s decision. They probably imagined having a slayer pledge allegiance to a high commander of their military and allow himself to be bedded by one of their own would be a propagandic victory and a cowing blow to their species’ morale, rather than a situation the aforementioned slayer had been beating off to for upwards of a decade. 

Guillermo knew, of course, that fantasy and reality were two different things. He doubted the experience of being married to Nandor the Relentless would be quite as enjoyably lurid as he imagined. But if anyone was going to have to volunteer to live that reality, it might as well be someone who was already invested in the fantasy. At least he was, for once, able to think of his vampire fucking ways as a strategic asset rather than an embarassing liability. Even if he did feel like the crucifixes on the wall of his family’s refectory were all staring at the back of his head in righteous judgement while he ate dinner. 

Guillermo told himself that, if his personal sexual proclivities had made it a lot easier to volunteer for this assignment, that was no one’s business but his own. The guilt was, however, terrible. (He was Catholic, so the guilt was always terrible, but the exact blend of depravity and false valour involved in this particular situation was really proving a feast for his conscience.) When he first stepped forward the ambassadors and Queen Lazarro’s court had commended him for his bravery and his sacrifice-- some with tears in their eyes and others with awe, some speaking to him solemnly in expectation of his imminent death. Guillermo had looked serious and nodded and reassured them that he was a slayer and a loyal subject of Trestait, and that he would of course do his duty to his kingdom and his family and his people. 

He definitely had _not_ mentioned that he expected he’d have to hastily masturbate before every negotiation just to avoid blowing his cover by getting a hard on in front of everyone. 

Guillermo may had known pretty far in advance that the Trestait representative was going to have to be him, but it had come as a surprise that his betrothed was going to be Nandor. To be fair it seemed to have come as a surprise to everyone else involved too. He’d received the news the previous week, a page slipping from the formal meeting hall and into the anteroom where Guillermo had been sitting on a bench and idly sketching. 

“They, the representatives wish to have it conveyed to you that their first choice for your betrothed is...” the page, face pale as chalk, had begun to announce before pausing as if to brace himself. Guillermo had considered with regret and rising panic the vampires who he most dreaded the thought of Daptes choosing. Baron Afarnas, Vasilika the Defiler, Simon the Devious had all flitted through his head before the page had said “N- Nandor” in a trembling voice and surprise had taken much of the bite out of his anxiety.

If Guillermo had been asked at the start of negotiations to write a list of the two hundred vampires he thought Daptes most likely to suggest for a diplomatic marriage, the name Nandor the Relentless would not have appeared anywhere on the page. Guillermo had not even considered him as a candidate.

Guillermo had laid his charcoal down upon the page and mulled over this prospect for a moment. 

“Tell them I accept,” he’d said after a minute, taking his charcoal up again.

“W- what?” the page had asked.

“Tell them I accept,” he’d repeated, not troubling to raise his eyes from his sketch. 

The page had left and then, a minute later, returned with one of their kingdom’s negotiators, who had unnecessarily specified that the Nandor in question was Nandor the Relentless, and that Simon the Devious was suggesting Guillermo _betroth_ himself to said Nandor. Guillermo had replied that he was aware of this, and that he had accepted, and that they should probably go ahead and tell Simon that. The pair had left, only to return with Doug Peterson, Most High Royal Advisor to the Queen. 

“Nandor. Nandor _the Relentless_ ,” Doug Peterson had said. “The unholy shadow of death. The nationfeller. The merciless immortal warrior who twice turned the Euphrates red with blood. You do know who he _is_ , right?”

Guillermo knew who Nandor the Relentless was. Any slayer worth their salt made it a practice to know about prominent citizens of the Daptes Empire, and even were Guillermo not an heir of Van Helsing, most humans on their continent knew and feared that name. He knew Nandor was the commander of Daptes’ army. He knew he was the warrior who had twice turned the Euphrates red with blood-- an accomplishment he thought rather emblematic of who Nandor seemed to be, for though it was admittedly impressive on an epic scale, it was, practically speaking, a complete waste of blood. Guillermo also knew that Nandor had long dark hair and a sharp distinguished face, large hands and lips that looked very soft. Guillermo also knew that Nandor couldn’t hypnotize his way out of a wet paper bag, and that one of his greatest recorded weaknesses was his habit of getting deeply emotionally attached to his horses. 

Guillermo had given Doug Peterson a pointed look. 

“Well, I know he’d be my fiance by now if you guys knew how to take a message.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was worried about how to justify how the circumstances of this AU make it plausible for Guillermo to be this confident, but then "Witches" came out and said "Smartass Guillermo Rights" and now I don't gotta explain myself to anyone.


	3. Portrait

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Nandor is beset upon by troubles.

“The appearance of the human is irrelevant,” Nandor repeated for what felt like the thousandth time and very well could have been, staring down at a map of the continent he’d laid out on the desk in his study and dearly wishing his new roomates would drop the topic. “So long as this marriage is what is needed to secure the glory of our Unholy Empire, it shall be taking place.” Regardless of what Nandor thought about the plan, or about whoever the humans deemed disposable enough to offer up to him. “It is inevitable,” he added, in a serious voice, because it added gravitas to what could otherwise be mistaken for sulking.

“Well then, my good man, in that case why _not_ take a gander at it?” Laszlo, ever persistent, continued to pester. He pulled his pipe from his mouth and with its stem gestured towards a paper wrapped canvas-- a portrait of Nandor’s betrothed which Nandor had shoved into a corner of his study shortly after it arrived. “What is there to lose?”

Nandor grunted. He pointed to a location on the map he was leaning over, and then ran his finger over the parchment to another location. The gesture was completely meaningless, as it was impossible for Nandor to actually focus on battle planning with Laszlo nattering his ear off and Nadja’s idle ceiling crawling peeling flakes of plaster off the surface and scattering them around the room, but he would be damned if he allowed the pair to know he was bothered. 

Nandor missed having privacy. He went off on a campaign to distant lands for a measly decade and came back to find two of the Baron’s sex pets making themselves entirely at home in what should rightfully be _his_ sovereign domain. Their own home had, apparently, been burned down months ago by a mob of vampires who had some quarrel with how they were managing their familiars-- Nandor had not actually cared much to hear the details. They claimed that they were having their house rebuilt and would return to it once finished, but Nandor was suspicious of their claims as it seemed to him that the pair had made themselves well at home in his domain. Since the Empress evidently knew about and accepted the arrangement, Nandor would have no recourse for forcing the perverts out, even he’d decided it was worth the hassle of upsetting the Baron. 

There was also an energy vampire, Colin Robinson, who Nandor highly doubted was anyone’s sex pet but couldn’t figure out the use of otherwise. The Empress had not warned him about Colin Robinson, and Laszlo and Nadja claimed he had already been living in the house when they’d arrived. Nandor had tried to force the energy vampire out, but the man had taken this as an opportunity to launch into a discussion of the finer points of tenancy law throughout modern history, and Nandor had ended up reduced to clutching the doorframe to keep himself from passing out from the drain.

“If you’re to be forced to buy the cow either way, why not get a peek at the _udder_?” Laszlo said, gesturing suggestively with his pipe.

Nandor looked up from the map at this, giving a nervous glance to the covered portrait.

“Do you think it will have udders?” he asked. He did not wish to add the responsibility of _milking_ a human to the already sickening list of needed preparations for his upcoming assignment.

“It’s a metaphor, old chap,” Laszlo replied, before pausing thoughtfully. “Of course, for all we know he may well! No chance to find out if you keep yourself in ignorance.”

“Would you at least let _us_ have a look at him?” Nadja asked from the corner of the ceiling, apparently deciding it was now time to join Laszlo in pestering Nandor. “If you aren’t even going to have a bit of fun with this, we might as well see if he’s worth inviting into our den.”

“Well said, my darling,” Laszlo remarked, “we _do_ like a little nibble now and then.”

Nandor felt his eye twitch. First the perverts invaded his home, then they attempted to stake claim on his human? He would have to advise the Empress that it was imperative for the human’s safety that the pair be rehomed before the wedding occurred. Hopefully that might speed up the moving process, or at least delay the wedding.

“Just a peek,” Nadja said. Nandor raised his head to see she had wandered down to the wall and was not-quite-surreptitiously approaching the corner in which the portrait had been stuffed and left to gather dust for the past weeks. ”I would like a nice pair of fat udders to play with,” she noted, almost to herself, in a dreamy tone.

“Silence!” Nandor snapped, slamming his hands down on his desk. He was able to tolerate this talk no longer. “You will _not_ speak of my betrothed in such a manner!”

"Nandor," Nadja began to wheedle, "don't be such a donkey."

"Get out,” Nandor ordered, pulling his scimitar from its scabbard and brandishing it in their general direction when they made no move to comply. “The both of you, out!"

With a great deal of grumbling they at last left. Nandor followed them to the door, locking it behind them and then returning to his desk. He leaned over, bracing his hands against the desktop and looking over the map. He stared at it for a minute, willing himself to focus, before glancing to the wrapped canvas. His fingers twitched. He forced himself to look back to the parchment, but this attempt was no more successful than the last. With an irritated growl Nandor swept the map aside and strode over to the canvas. He wrenched it out from where he'd crammed it and brought it to his desk. He unsealed the wrapping with a long swipe of a talon, and after a final moment of hesitation, yanked the rest off.

It was a nicely done painting. Nandor forced himself to appreciate this. He’d had a lot of portraits done of himself over the centuries, and been dissatisfied with many of them, not that he had a reflection to compare them against anymore.

The human in the portrait was dressed in dark blue clothing, a tunic and breeches as well as a short doublet that glimmered, like a dark sky with stars or a village on fire at midnight, with golden embroidery in the shape of flowers and leaves and twisting vines. The human’s hair was dark and curled, and he held his hands together in front of him demurely. He wasn't smiling, yet there was a promise of a smile in the plump apples of his cheek, a compelling warmth in his dark eyes, and his skin was fallow in color and alive with the flush of blood.

He looked _delicious_.

Nandor said every curse he knew in English. Then he said every curse he knew in Farsi. Then he said some of the English ones again.

 _This_ was the human-- the soft, small, appetizing, _virgin_ human, that he was supposed to keep alive in a city swarming with vampires? That he was supposed to nestle up against in his crypt and abstain from sucking dry? Nandor moaned in misery and buried his fingers into the crown of his head, tugging at his hair from the roots.

Why could the Empress not have allowed him to stick to the _conquering_ parts of serving his Empire?

Nandor _liked_ the conquering part of serving his Empire. He liked the invading and the pillaging and the slaughtering of the enemy. He liked burning villages until they were level. He liked scarring his name and his face and the terror he wrought into the memory of a generation, an imprint of horror seared permanently in place with a brand of white-hot fear. He liked salting the earth so that nothing shall grow for a thousand years. 

He did not like the managing bits. He did not like the bits between battles, between conquests, where all of this stuff you'd pillaged had to be divided up and taxes taken out and negotiations made. He got bored of it, annoyed by it, became sidetracked in minutiae of protocol and rules and the infeasibility of pleasing everyone.

That's what got him in trouble in Al Quolanudar, he remembered. He'd had no one to invade and no wives or children to occupy him, and he'd gotten restless. The peasants had always been whining about this and that sort of thing-- that there was not enough water, that there was not enough food, that Nandor had swooped upon their father in the night and drained him of his blood and that now he was dead. Nandor had grown tired of the pretending of listening to them. Then the business with all the pillaging and torturing of his own subjects had started up, and the situation had deteriorated rather quickly. The whole being driven out of his homeland by peasants thing had happened in short order.

Nandor was not a diplomat, nor a negotiator, nor a politician, nor a councilor. He was a warrior. He was a murderer. He was a _vampire_ , damn it.

How in fucking _hell_ was he supposed to keep this human alive, even if it was for only a hundred years? He knew ten thousand ways to kill one, certainly, but that would do little to help him now. Mortals were like strange finicky orchids, delicate and fussy and temperamental. Nandor did not even have to _try_ to end a human’s life to do so-- accidentally paying too little attention to them was sufficient. That was why human prisoners were such an absolute nightmare to keep alive: if you forgot to water them for even a single week you’d find them rotted away dead in their cage, useless. And now Nandor had been charged with keeping a human whole and thriving for at least a century. 

After further contemplation and cursing, Nandor decided he would hang the painting in his crypt, so he might do his best to brace himself against the sight of this soft human with the warm eyes and the absolutely delicious looking skin. Perhaps, he thought, he could do something disgusting when he looked at it-- like put human food into his mouth, or listen to Nadja and Laszlo having messy intercourse. Train his brain to look at the mortal and think “blech, do not eat.” Was that possible to do? Nandor hoped it was possible to do. 

Nandor _needed_ for it to be possible to do. 


	4. Glimpse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there are first sights and second thoughts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dialogue in Spanish will be translated to English in Guillermo's chapters, with Spanish dialogue being signaled by chevrons (« ») as well as punctuation marks. Some words-- such as proper nouns and names of foods, will remain in Spanish.

There was a pair of feet sticking out from under the curtain in the hallway, and Guillermo was fairly certain he knew who they belonged to. 

Diverting from his intended path, he drew closer, his steps quiet enough between the earthen floor and the soft leather soles of his slippers that he barely had to try for stealth. He could make out a slight lump in the heavy drapery, which had earlier in the evening been drawn closed to cover an ornate latticework window that looked into the courtyard. He leaned carefully forward, putting his face closer to the head of the hidden figure.

«¿Mercedes de la Cruz, what are you doing there?» he asked, affecting a stern voice.

The lump under the curtain jolted, flailed, emitted a surprised bleat. Then there was a rustling of fabric and a chorus of grunts as the material was pulled aside to reveal the scowling face of an eleven year old girl. Her long dark hair was neatly plaited, the braids interlaced with red satin ribbon and gathered into a crown. Guillermo was used to seeing his sister with a mop of wild curls. The formal hairstyle made her look somehow older, more mature.

«¡Nothing!» Mercedes declared before hiding herself once more behind the curtain.

«Come out from there, then. You can do ‘nothing’ just as well in the refectory,» Guillermo reasoned.

«No,» his sister replied, her voice muffled, defensive.

«In that case... I suppose I'll join you. Move over.» 

After a moment of silence Mercedes complied, allowing Guillermo to slip behind the drapery and stand next to her. The light was dim underneath the bulky fabric, but he could see Mercedes looking at him out of the side of her eye before she returned her focus to the firelit courtyard. Guillermo leaned down to match her eye level, peering through the intricate designs cut into the metal lattice and squinting as he waited for his eyes to adjust to the dark. There were four vampires standing in the center of the courtyard, each one clothed in raiments darker yet than even the nearly moonless night sky above them.

«¿Which one is yours?» Mercedes asked in a hushed whisper. Guillermo’s gaze flickered briefly towards the imposing figure currently staring into the firepit and then away.

«¿Which one do you think?» he asked.

Mercedes contemplated this puzzle for a while, chewing her lip, her eyes turning keen and intent in taking measure of the creatures before them.

«¿The fancy man, with all the rings?» she suggested at length.

«Nope. That's Laszlo Cravensworth. He's a member of the Baron's court, probably here as a diplomatic witness,» Guillermo explained. «You’d have been able to figure that out yourself if you’d been studying your list of high profile targets,» he couldn’t help but add. Mercedes had always been invested in the practical aspects of vampire hunting to the exclusion of the scholarly component.

«A vampire is a vampire,» she insisted, scrunching up her face. «I only care which one is yours.»

Guillermo sighed, yet he still felt the corners of his mouth tug into a smile as he leaned closer to his sibling.

«¿See the one standing near the fire, the tall one? ¿With the bear pelt draped over his shoulders? _That’s_ him. Nandor the Relentless.»

«Ew,» Mercedes said after a moment of silent scrutiny, «he has a big beard.»

«Some people like big beards, you know,» Guillermo noted.

«Well I _don’t_ ,» Mercedes declared, looking his betrothed over with clear dissatisfaction. «I don’t and I never will.»

«Lucky that you’re not the one marrying him, then,» he teased lightly. «You know, Papa is probably looking for...»

Guillermo trailed off at the feeling of Mercedes' hand slipping into his, squeezing his fingers tight. Too tight, like she was trying to staunch a wound. Like she was clinging to a raft at sea.

«This is stupid,» she declared in a soft, hoarse voice. «¿Why does he get to just come here and take you away? It’s _stupid_.» She blinked hard, eyes shining with moisture.

«He's not going to take me away tonight,» Guillermo pointed out. «For all we know he might get one look at me in person and decide to call the whole arrangement off.»

«No,» Mercedes said, pinning her brother with her intense stare, her grave certainty. «He’ll love you, Memo.» 

She sounded quite grim, and entirely confident in the truth of her words. Guillermo swallowed dryly. He wished he felt the same surety in that outcome as she did. Nandor may have been (by Guillermo’s standards at the very least) nowhere _near_ the worst vampire he could have been betrothed to, but he wasn’t a man known for having an abundance of tender feelings. What little affection he was known to be capable of seemed to be reserved entirely for his steeds. But that capacity for care was at least an indication that their marriage could one day include genuine affection. Even if, realistically, Guillermo knew he should count himself lucky if they could so much as tolerate each other. 

«Even if we do marry, I won’t be gone for good,» Guillermo reminded his sister. «I’ll be able to visit for some of the major holidays, and maybe in a few years the vampires will have warmed up to the idea of us coming to stay here for a few months out of the year.» 

He tried to keep his voice light, but the knowledge that marrying Nandor would mean leaving his home had been sitting in the pit of his stomach like a heavy stone for some time. He had grown up on this compound surrounded by family-- not just his parents and siblings, but his aunts and uncles, his cousins, his grandparents. Their home had always been full of life, vibrant and bustling. There had always been someone to watch him, play with him, keep him busy and tell him stories during his childhood. There had been times, especially in his adolescent years, when he’d resented the lack of privacy and personal space that came with the arrangement. But at least he was never _alone_ , never knew the feeling of being left to fend for himself among strangers. 

He couldn’t imagine what it was going to be like, to live so far away from his family in some strange cold house with some strange cold vampire. It seemed such an empty, barren existence all of the sudden. It seemed so lonely. 

Mercedes looked away from him and was silent. After a moment she released Guillermo’s hand and turned into him, wrapping her arms around his middle and hugging him tightly. Guillermo wanted to say something more, something comforting, but he felt emotion rise in his throat and choke off his words. So he only embraced her back, tight as he could, resting his cheek against the crown of her head and rocking them gently back and forth as Mercedes trembled and occasionally sniffled into his shoulder.

Eventually his sister cleared her throat and gingerly pulled away. She wiped at her cheeks with the back of her hand and then shuffled out from behind the curtain, Guillermo following behind her. Guillermo had been too preoccupied with his own preparations to notice that Mercedes’ gown was new. She’d grown too big to fit into the formal dress she’d worn before, and the realization of all the growing his sister had done and all the growing she had yet to do-- the fact that he would have to miss so much of it-- had Guillermo wishing he could pull her into another embrace and never let go. Mercedes carefully arranged her skirt, then took out a linen handkerchief and blew her nose with it. 

«Don’t tell anyone I hugged you,» she ordered, folding the square of fabric and tucking it away into her pocket. «They’ll think I’m being a baby.»

«Your coldhearted reputation is safe with me,» Guillermo promised, clearing his throat and then dutifully crossing his heart. «Now go back to the refectory and get your dinner before everyone starts to worry that you’ve snuck off to assassinate our guests.» 

Mercedes nodded and then scurried down the hallway in a flurry of brocade. Guillermo turned his attention back to the curtain, curiosity spurring him to reach out and begin to push the fabric aside. He let it fall back into place when, from the corner of his eye, he saw Mercedes slow her pace and then turn her head back to him.

«¿Memo?» she called. 

«¿Yeah?»

«If he hurts you…» Mercedes mimed hammering a fistfull of stakes into the heart of an imaginary vampire, then twisting off it’s head, then throwing its corpse to the ground and dancing around sprinkling holy water all over it. Guillermo suppressed the laugh that threatened to burst from his throat, but it was a near thing. Mercedes wouldn’t appreciate it, even if he wasn’t laughing _at_ her.

«¿Have you gotten any pozole yet, by the way?» he asked with mock innocence. «I heard there isn’t going to be enough for everyone, and since I know it’s your favorite-»

Mercedes gasped sharply and without further hesitation spun and bolted down the hall. Guillermo smiled to himself, turning back to the curtain. 

Guillermo hadn’t signed the marriage contract yet. He could still, technically, back out at this point. This was the first time he found himself seriously considering the possibility. His resolve hadn’t faltered at the threat of death or pain, nor at the uncertainty of his future personal happiness-- but the reminder of the looming prospect of leaving his family for months had shaken him viscerally. The temptation to risk another peek into the courtyard filled Guillermo with restlessness and set his fingers fidgeting, but he balled his hands into fists and resisted. He’d see the vampire face to face soon enough.

Guillermo continued down the hall to his original destination-- a cabinet room where his mother and Doug Peterson were awaiting him, along with a nobleman who would serve as their official witness, and a werewolf. 

The werewolf, a pack leader named Arjan, would act as a neutral party and the officiator of the contract signing. It had taken some time for Trestait and Daptes to agree on sourcing from werewolf communities for these roles. Before arriving at this solution witches, babadooks, necromancers and more had all been put forth and all ruled too partial to one side or the other. (A number of energy vampires had repeatedly offered their services and had been just as repeatedly rejected by both sides. Apparently the mixture of boredom, anger, and discomfort characteristic of negotiating a contentious political marriage was considered a rare delicacy.) 

But neither humans nor vampires liked (or were liked by) werewolves very much, so that was the solution they’d eventually reached.

Arjan, the werewolf in question, was skulking in a corner of the room apart from the humans, and perked up at Guillermo’s entrance.

“We good to go, little dude?” he asked.

Guillermo took in a shaky breath and then let it out. He nodded.


	5. Meeting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Nandor makes an impression.

The moon was wane, and in substitute for it's light the humans had lit a blaze in the center of their courtyard so they might navigate the space with their feeble eyes. Nandor the Relentless stood facing the fire with militant precision, each muscle taut. He held his hands clasped together behind his back, though what he'd rather do with them is draw his saber from its scabbard. He gazed overtop the licking flames, through the haze of radiant heat, at the doorway through which the humans would be exiting their compound. If he focused carefully he could hear them through their walls, like skittering mice in the night. 

It had been clever of the humans to conduct their Aghd Ceremony in their courtyard. Nandor had been pleased by the arrangement initially-- the lack of a roof over the space meant that vampires were exempted from needing an invitation and could simply drop down into the property from the air. But then, once they had arrived, he had realized that this also meant the humans could get away with not inviting any vampires into the house itself-- a sturdy complex which surrounded the yard. If the humans somehow managed to cut off their access to the sky, they could be trapped in the courtyard with no way out. They could be trapped until dawn.

Nandor did not like it. He would ask who it was that had chosen this location and then he would kill them.

Nandor felt a little better having decided this. In a way he wished that the humans would try something devious, so that this meeting should become a battle. He was far more equipped for slaughter than courtship.

The doorway opened, a group of four humans and a werewolf walking through it, and Nandor placed his hand on the hilt of his sword, scrutinizing them.

He knew his human instantly from the portrait he’d received which bore his likeness, and in the same instant he knew that his efforts to cultivate a sense of disgust towards his betrothed’s face had been a dismal failure. Perhaps because he looked altogether more beautiful in person than he had appeared in his depiction on canvas. Another unexpected setback at the hands of the scheming human strategists, to hide how appetizing their offer would be until it was right before Nandor. 

That the human recognized Nandor in turn was evident, for he looked directly towards the vampire, meeting his eyes over the fire. The human held his gaze intently. For a moment he looked grave and resolute, resigned to his fate yet defiant to its circumstances. For a moment Nandor imagined this meeting as the start of a war rather than a courtship, and for that moment he felt as if he'd found his footing again.

But then the human had done something outrageous. 

Then the human had _smiled_.

Nandor had not seen the sun rise for seven hundred years, but when his betrothed smiled at him, he remembered. He remembered a sky of golden yellows and burning oranges and a vibrant pink red like the stain of cherry on lips. He remembered the clean, clear quality of early sunlight on his cheeks and his brow-- that soft warmth which was nothing like the calidity of midday or the burn of a nearby flame. He remembered an expanse of rippling salt sand that extended into the horizon, its furrows cast into dramatic shadow, as if in inverted reflection of the clouds. He remembered something so bright it was blinding to look at, so bright it seared its ghost into the backs of your eyes, a shadow which reappeared with each blink. 

Nandor narrowed his eyes and let out a low hiss, face tightening in a cringe as if he’d been ambushed by a flash powder explosion. He had no better recourse than to immediately look away, turning his body from the human.

He remained in this position, back to the fire and to the enemy, hand tight on the grip of his scimitar until what little flush he still had to his skin had been bleached from his knuckles, until he heard soft steps approaching him from the side and a clearing of someone’s throat. He reluctantly looked aside to the source of the noise.

“I’m Guillermo de la Cruz," his human introduced himself, giving a small tilt of his head and another little smile.

“I know who you are,” Nandor said at last, too stiff and too uncertain of himself to return the human’s gesture. He pivoted abruptly, turning his back once more to the human in the hope of gaining reprieve from this assault of warm eyes and small smiles. Unfortunately this brought him face to face with Laszlo.

“Well? Introduce yourself, you prick,” the other vampire prompted him in an undertone. 

“He knows who I am,” Nandor sneered.

“ _He’s_ right here, you know,” his betrothed said from behind them, sounding irritated. Nandor glanced behind his shoulder, relieved that the human had at least stopped smiling. Unfortunately he still looked handsome when he was annoyed, but one problem at a time. Nandor lifted his hand and hastily waved it through the air in front of the human’s face in order to cast a trance over him.

“ _You will not-_ ” his command was cut off by Laszlo punching him in the ribs rather harder than Nandor would have thought the stout man capable of. “Ow!” he exclaimed, scowling at the other vampire. “What was that for?” 

“I _say_ , old chap, wrong time for a _joke_ like that,” Laszlo replied through a rictus grin, though his nervous gaze was pointed not at Nandor but to the human group. Nandor followed his eyes to find the werewolf appearing grim and the human party rather unamused. One of them, an older female with bangs, had a particularly murderous look in her eye, and he bared his teeth at her. He glanced to the other vampires, who also seemed deeply displeased. _Shit._

“It’s fine,” the human Guillermo said suddenly, cutting through the silent tension with a scoff of apparent disdain. “It wouldn't have worked either way. He’s terrible at hypnosis.”

Nandor recoiled, so taken aback by the outrageous gall of this human he could not help but manifest it in physical repulsion. 

“I am _fine_ at hypnosis,” he snapped.

“You’re Nandor the Relentless, right?” the human asked, raising a brow. 

“Of course I am,” Nandor answered. 

“Then no, you aren’t,” the human insisted, looking Nandor defiantly in the eyes. “We literally have it written down in our records as your second greatest weakness.”

“Well that is wrong, your records are wrong,” Nandor said, crossing his arms and seething silently for a moment before his curiosity got the better hand of him. “What is my first greatest weakness?” he asked. The human’s mouth lifted in a slight, almost feline, smirk.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” he asked.

Nandor narrowed his eyes.

“Yes, I would like to know. Not that it is right. It is probably wrong. Definitely wrong. I want to know how wrong it is so I can laugh at it. In fact I shall begin to laughing right now _just_ from imagining how wrong-”

“ _Nandor_ my good man, could I have a moment of your time?” Laszlo interrupted loudly, stepping between Nandor and his irksome betrothed.

“To apologize for hitting me?” Nandor asked, feeling rather petulant about his sore side.

“Yes, yes of course,” Laszlo assured him, and Nandor reluctantly allowed himself to be urged over to a far corner of the courtyard.

“What the _hell_ do you think you are doing?” Laszlo asked, turning on Nandor once he’d apparently judged them far enough away to be unheard by the human ears.

“I am doing my duty to the empire,” Nandor said.

“ _You_ are fucking the _pooch_ , my friend,” Laszlo seethed, jabbing a finger at his face. “It’s taken months of work to get this thing tied up like a bow. Months! All you need to do here is show up, introduce yourself, look vaguely menacing, and sign a contract. It’s supposed to be unfuckupable, even for an uneducated lout like yourself. That bloody hypnosis attempt _alone_ could have cost us this whole thing.”

Admittedly, now that he thought of it, Nandor could faintly recall that Laszlo may have said something about the rules of meeting with these humans being rather strict. Something about _imperative_ and _potentially catastrophic repercussions_ , and _if you remember nothing else about this damned meeting, remember that..._ something something something blah blah blah. How was Nandor supposed to know that kind of stuff was going to be important later? 

“Humans are flighty little buggers,” Laszlo continued, “and their negotiators have ensured that if we give them a solid reason to back out without being ruled at fault-- say, for example, by flagrant violation of one of the foundational precepts of Vampire-Human negotiation, which you may remember attempting not _ten bloody seconds ago_ \-- we’re all royally screwed. So say something nice to the bloody human and then _shut your damned gob_.”

“This is _not_ an apology,” Nandor noted sullenly. 

There was more berating from Laszlo, which Nandor largely tuned out, and then they returned to the center of the courtyard, where his human stood in front of the werewolf. Laszlo had not told him what nice words he must say to the human when he came back, so Nandor was forced to create a complement from whole cloth.

“There was a painting,” he said, standing himself beside the human and scrutinizing the werewolf officiant. “It was inaccurate to the reality of your face. It was... an unjust depiction.”

“O...kay?” the human replied, sounding rather uncertain if this was genuinely O-kay. He did not like Nandor’s compliment. Of course he did not. Nandor well knew that his words, much like the painting, had utterly failed to do justice to him. _Well human_ , he thought bitterly, _if you wanted a poet for a husband you should never have agreed to wed me_.

“Lets get this over with,” Nandor said, giving a sharp nod to the werewolf to indicate he should begin reading through the contract.

Nandor and his human betrothed stood in silence as the agreement was laid out. It was long and boring and rather wordy, and Nandor did not give much attention to it. He had already been given the basics by Laszlo. The air around him was thick with woodsmoke and mortal scents-- their sweat and their food and their hot, humid breath-- but with his particular human close by, he thought he might be able to pick out his individual scent. That unmistakable skin and warmth smell of _human_ , but with a strange burning undercurrent and some kind of sweet, woody spice. It had been so long since he'd had human food that he could not place it. 

Whatever it was, it smelled appetizing. Which was the last thing Nandor needed. He'd made sure to feed before the meeting so that he would not risk distraction by thirst. He did not want to know what the human would smell like to him when he was hungry.

At last the officiant finished, and placed the contract upon a platter along with an inkwell and quill, offering it towards Nandor. Nandor looked at the writing implement with silent unease, bracing himself to take it up. He clenched and unclenched his fists. This was a moment of great import. It needed to be given the proper gravity.

“Oh for fuck’s sake,” the human muttered. Before Nandor could snap at him to quiet down the human had reached across Nandor and plucked the quill from the platter. He wet it and signed his name on the parchment with a fluid, decisive flourish. His part done, the human straightened up and offered the quill to Nandor, meeting his eyes in an unspoken but unmistakable challenge.

 _Cinnamon_ , Nandor realized. The human smelled like Cinnamon.

Nandor took the quill and, before he could think better of it, scrawled his own signature next to the human’s.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shout out to the Laszlo of this AU who, having _not_ spent 200 years as roommates with Nandor, had absolutely zero clue dude was going to swerve that fucking hard right out of the gate and force him of all people to be the Voice of Reason.


	6. Audience

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Guillermo rationalizes and generosity is bestowed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> By the by, wanted to let y'all know that, in order to manage my anxiety and maintain my writing productivity, I wait until I've posted a new chapter before I read any comments left on the previous chapter. My apologies that this means I won’t be able to respond promptly to everyone's reviews! I super appreciate all of the comments I receive!!

Three weeks passed between the signing of the marriage contract and the next time Guillermo saw Nandor the Relentless. 

Guillermo and his party were gathered in an open vestibule that led into the grand reception hall of the Temple of Blood Devourers, awaiting an audience with Empress Tilda. Nandor stood at the right hand of the Empress’ throne. He looked roughly as implacably stern, and possibly even _more_ imposing, than he had at their last meeting. He seemed to be trying not to look at Guillermo. Trying but not entirely succeeding, as the vampire kept periodically glancing directly at him as if checking he was still there, before returning to stare forward with an expression of haughty resolve. _He probably thinks he looks handsome and authoritative when he does that_ , Guillermo thought to himself. _And he_ does _, damn it all._

Guillermo wasn’t exactly thrilled with the way his first meeting with his betrothed had gone. He hadn’t been so deluded as to expect Nandor to fall in love at first sight or something like that, but he also wouldn’t have imagined that ‘not recoiling at the sight of him,’ ‘introducing himself,’ and ‘not telling him his portrait was false advertising’ would be too high a bar to pass. Evidently he’d been quite wrong. After the vampires had left (Nandor having transformed into a bat and taken to the air the second the contract was declared completed, the rest of the party having followed suit shortly after) Guillermo had eaten a dinner which he had barely tasted and then stared at the ceiling of his bedroom for the remainder of the night, picking apart every detail of the meeting. 

On the face of things, there hadn’t been a great deal to inspire optimism about his upcoming nuptials. Nandor was every bit the brusque, arrogant asshole his reputation indicated, and he’d made it obvious that he didn’t find Guillermo the least bit appealing. Guillermo wouldn’t be surprised if the attempt to hypnotise him had been a ploy to dissolve the agreement immediately without having to admit the vampire was the one who didn’t want to go through with it. He certainly seemed to be roughly as interested in marrying Guillermo as Guillermo would be to eat a slug.

On the other hand, God he was gorgeous. Guillermo had known Nandor was handsome in theory, based on textual descriptions and woodblock prints, but in person he was ridiculously gorgeous, _ludicrously_ gorgeous. Tall and broad-shouldered and distinguished, with a wide mouth and heavy brow and dark eyes ringed with kohl and far more expressive than Guillermo had imagined them. In the night his sharp profile and ashen skin had cut through the darkness almost luminously. 

So the meeting had at least confirmed to Guillermo that he would have no problem being bedded by Nandor. It was the prospect of living together that was looking grimmer.

Either way, he’d signed the contract, and Nandor had as well. The marriage was going to happen, and Guillermo would gain little benefit from dwelling further on the worst possibilities, so he’d decided to be optimistic.

Maybe Nandor had been nervous, Guillermo had reasoned to himself. Some people came off as inconsiderate jerks when they were nervous. The comment about the portrait could conceivably have been intended as a compliment, if Guillermo ignored the rest of the behavior which seemed to confirm the vampire’s distaste for him. And in fairness, Guillermo had gotten a bit hostile himself when Nandor’s initial response had fallen so short of his expectations. He would need to be more patient.

He hung his hope on small details, the brief flashing moments in which he felt he’d gleaned insight into a Nandor that seemed less coldly derisive and more, for lack of a better word, human. The indignant, almost childish insult he’d taken at Guillermo’s frank assessment of his hypnotic abilities. The morose expression he’d worn when he slunk back from being berated by Cravensworth. The fact that his hair had been dishevelled and tangled, as if he’d just spent a few hours riding a horse with a helmet on and had forgotten to comb it afterwards.

Maybe Nandor didn’t think he was attractive, but Guillermo could live with that. _He doesnt have to fuck me with candles on_ , he reasoned to himself, before remembering the vampiric enhancements of night vision. _Well, he doesn’t have to fuck me with his eyes open_ , he revised. _At least not the first time_. And Guillermo could grow on Nandor. Guillermo would _make sure_ he grew on Nandor.

Guillermo could make this work. He _had_ to make this work. He was the fool who’d signed himself up for this. He could be patient. He was good at being patient, when he tried.

 _I’m being patient right now_ , he reflected, turning his attention to the Empress and sighing through his nose. She had kept them standing at the threshold for ten minutes now. She was not currently in audience with anyone, but instead chattering away with her chief advisor, Viago, who stood to her left. There seemed to be no reason for the Empress to have made them wait, other than to flaunt power over them.

Vampires, Guillermo noted privately, were absolutely _insufferable_ when they were trying to convince you they had the upper hand. 

“Trying” being the operative word in this case-- because beneath all their pomp and vainglory, Daptes _needed_ this alliance, and probably a good deal more desperately than Trestait did.

There were a growing number of signs that Daptes, despite its vast wealth and powerful military, was struggling. There were rumors of rising tensions between the aristocracy and commoners, as well as within the council and the nobility. An increasing number of sanguivorous vampires were leaving the Empire. At the same time, an increased number of energy vampires were joining it. And while rogue vampires raiding Trestait in search of human prey had always been a problem-- enough of a problem to have kept Guillermo’s family steadily and rather gainfully employed for about six generations-- the number of incidents had been growing exponentially in the past two years. 

When Guillermo had first started as a slayer, intruders from Daptes had been thrill seekers or gormands as a rule-- hunting the citizens of Trestait not out of need but out of novelty. That no longer seemed to be the case.There was a sense of _desperation_ to the behavior of the raiders Guillermo and his family had destroyed over the past year-- and the fact that Daptes had suggested an alliance with Trestait implied that this desperation was not limited to the fringes of the Empire.

In light of these changes, Guillermo had begun to suspect that Daptes might be having a problem with its blood supply.

“And now, your Unholiness...” Viago’s raised voice drew Guillermo’s focus away from of his theories and back into the immediate present. “We have representatives from that little human kingdom.”

Guillermo stepped forward first, coming to the center of the room and introducing himself before bowing at the waist. Doug Peterson followed after him, completing his own introduction and bow. They were flanked at a small distance by one of Guillermo’s cousins and his older sister, who kept sharp watch on their surroundings, stakes at the ready. The rest of their party, as well as the gift they had brought, remained sheltered in the vestibule.

" _This_ is the little guy?" Viago asked in a voice he probably assumed soft enough to be private, pointing daintily at Guillermo. Vampires had a habit of forgetting that, while their hearing might be preternaturally sharpened, most humans were not profoundly deaf, and in a relatively quiet room could in fact hear what someone was saying several feet away from them. Viago looked across the throne to Nandor, displaying a toothy smile. "He's _adorable_ , Nandor."

"Yes, good pull, Nandor," the Empress agreed, giving Nandor a grin and an approving thumbs up. Nandor, his eyes hard, his brow and mouth sharp and unyielding as stone, glanced once more at Guillermo. He did not seem to feel the same way.

Perhaps, Guillermo thought, this was the mortal punishment he’d been alloted for his earthly sins-- spending the rest of his life stuck in a marriage with the _one_ vampire that didn't seem to find him distractingly alluring. A vampire who even by the most generous interpretation could barely muster a courteous word to him that went beyond remarking that his portrait had possibly made him look worse than he did in person. 

Practically speaking, given Guillermo wasn't supposed to get eaten by his husband, that disinterest was a good thing. But it was also more than a bit disheartening. He knew he wasn't all that attractive by human standards, but he'd had the impression that, for whatever reason, by vampire standards he was very appealing.

But he was not up to Nandor's standards, apparently.

"Your Unholiness,” Guillermo began, before Nandor had the opportunity to curl his lip upwards into a sneer and say something disparaging in response to the other vampires’ remarks, “I offer my sincerest appreciation for your hospitality."

"And so _demure_ as well,” the Empress remarked aside to his betrothed. “Oh Nandor, you're going to have a great deal of fun with _him_ , I think." Guillermo began to reconsider his theory that the vampires didn't realize they could overhear them. Perhaps this was another attempt to rub in their perceived advantage. But then Empress Tilda turned her gaze to him and shouted “You are welcome, human!” at the volume one might call to a passing coach, vouching for his original perception. 

“Our Undying Empire finds it indeed quite manageable,” she continued at an equally oppressive volume, “and quite droll besides, to have an opportunity to bestow our generosity upon you mortals.” Guillermo entertained himself with the fleeting fantasy of calling the Empress a condescending leech to her face. If he was right about the degree to which Daptes stood to benefit from their alliance, he might even be able to get away with it. Of course, he also might get his throat ripped out by his own betrothed before he could finish his sentence.

“In appreciation of your benevolence as our hostess,” Doug Peterson said, saving Guillermo the trouble of formulating a gracious reply, “and in celebration of the impending union of our peoples as allied nations, Queen Lazarro of Trestait wishes to present a gift to your Unholiness and to your subjects.” He clapped his hands twice, a cue for their present, currently hidden under a draped cloth, to be wheeled forward into the room from the vestibule and set in front of them.

“Oh,” Empress Tilda began, amusement twinkling in her eyes, “that’s very-” 

Doug Peterson clasped the fabric cover of the cube, and with a smooth motion pulled it all down, revealing a cage within which a dozen and a half shabbily dressed human prisoners blinked blearily at their surroundings. Empress Tilda’s voice died in her throat and her eyes rounded, her flippancy gone in an instant. Her gloved hand tensed on the arm of her throne. Guillermo glanced around the hall to see that every vampire present was currently looking upon the gift with undisguised, _ravenous_ hunger.

Guillermo mentally recategorized his blood supply theory from suspicion to certainty.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Listen. If you're a human and you wanna play ball with vampires, you're gonna have to be pretty fucked up yourself.


	7. Hospitality

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Guillermo gives, receives, and is roasted within an inch of his life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dialogue that appears in chevrons (« ») is spoken in Spanish. Spanish dialogue will also be signaled by punctuation. I've edited a previous chapter to be consistent with this format. (It took me a while to settle on how I want to convey language switching given a number of options but I'm pretty happy with this and hopefully it's clear without being overly distracting.)

A few minutes passed before the vampires were able to compose themselves entirely. They might have managed it sooner, but that a few of the prisoners had started wailing in horror as they reckoned their fates, which seemed to be very appetite whetting for vampires.

Guillermo glanced over to the cage. Shortly after negotiations had begun with Daptes, Queen Lazarro had put a halt to the carrying out of executions, commuting death sentences temporarily via royal decree. She had done this specifically in order to enable Trestait to make this kind of offering-- each prisoner making up the gift was a subject who had been tried and convicted as a perpetrator of a high crime. They knew they’d been sentenced to death, but of course they hadn’t realized until now how gruesome a death it would be. It didn’t exactly cast Trestait in the best light for their monarch to sacrifice her subjects to vampires, but the Queen and her court had tried to mitigate this by selecting perpetrators with particularly heinous crimes and certain guilt.

Still, Guillermo couldn't help but feel a tug of empathy for the poor bastards. The vampires were going to rip them to _shreds_.

He waited through the vampires’ struggle to comport themselves and give a gracious thanks, before moving forward with the next stage of the exchange. “If you will permit me the favor, your Unholiness,” he said, “I wish to present a gift to my betrothed under your witness.”

“Just for Nandor?” Empress Tilda asked. She looked a bit petulant about this prospect, perhaps expecting a second cage of humans to be wheeled over.

“It is a small token, your Unholiness,” Doug Peterson assured her.

“Well, what is it?” Empress Tilda asked, glancing at Guillermo before her eyes drifted back to the prisoners.

“A rapier,” Guillermo answered, pulling the weapon from where he’d tucked it under his arm and drawing it partially from its scabbard to present what was ostensibly a personal gift from himself to his betrothed. In reality, Guillermo had had essentially no input on the rapier outside of being the first to suggest giving Nandor a weapon. Every other detail-- from the type of weapon, to its design, to the material used, to the blacksmith commissioned for its creation-- had been selected by the Queen’s court in accordance with a system of complex political symbolism which Guillermo had only the barest understanding of. He doubted Nandor had much more insight into diplomatic semiology than he did-- but the sword was at least a decent gift on a practical level. It was something useful, something in keeping with Nandor’s reputation. Ideally, it also sent the vampire the distinct message that Guillermo was not afraid of him.

“Oh,” her Unholiness said, her disappointment evident. “Fetch it will you Ludvig,” she ordered absently, waving a beckoning hand towards one of the guards. The guard approached as commanded, keeping a wary eye on Guillermo’s cousin and sister the whole time (despite _Guillermo_ being the one holding a _sword_ ) and retrieved the weapon from Guillermo’s hands. 

The guard brought the rapier to Nandor, who stared at his present as if uncertain what it was. He made no move to take it until his Empress prompted him. Once he had, he drew it from the scabbard and inspected it carefully-- testing it’s balance, then lifting it to the level of his eye and staring down the edge of the blade to check it’s symmetry and scrutinize it for a curve. He fit his hand around the handle under the hilt, struck the rapier against the floor and then checked the edge again. 

According to convention, Nandor was _supposed_ to look it over briefly, remark that it was a fine piece of craftsmanship and very generous, and then put it away. Nandor seemed entirely unaware of that, and looked more like he was testing the wares in a smithery than receiving a lavish diplomatic present. Nandor’s brow furrowed in thought, the corners of his mouth pulling down in a frown once he’d inspected the rapier to his satisfaction. 

“It’s not a _bad_ sword,” he said, in an almost suspicious voice, narrowing his eyes at Guillermo as if accusing him of some arcane deception. He looked befuddled, and more than that, he looked… he looked...

Guillermo struggled for a moment to find an appropriate word before he became suddenly and irrevocably aware of a devastating reality that the word he was looking for was _cute_.

 _Oh, no,_ he thought. Nandor the Relentless being handsome, Guillermo could deal with. But Nandor the Relentless being _cute_? That put him perilously close to emotional jeopardy, to a pitfall which he could not afford to tumble into-- not with how detached Nandor’s own feeling were towards him.

Guillermo, perhaps fortunately, did not have much time to dwell on his discovery. The vampires were keen to show off their riches, perhaps hoping to re-balance the scales after their reactions to the Queen’s gift had tipped their hand a bit too much. 

The Empress presented Queen Lazarro and her kingdom with a chest of various treasures-- pearlescent opals the size of an eye, bolts of silk in various colors, ceremonial weapons with lavishly engraved blades, finely wrought challices overflowing with crisp clear diamonds and beady rubies. The gifts were undoubtedly of a great value. (Daptes had an absurd amount of material wealth, more than it seemed to know what to do with. If it hadn’t been for the fact that they were vampires, human kingdoms would have been scrambling over each other to ally with them.) The gifts were also, undoubtedly, just a bunch of things they already had lying around as spoils of pillaging human nations, rather than specifically crafted or commissioned. The monetary value of Daptes’ presents may have surpassed that of Trestait’s, but that did not make it any less obvious that the exchange had still left Daptes significantly in Trestait’s debt.

Score one for the humans.

“And this one is for you, little human. From Nandor,” the Empress noted, cueing a guard to bring out a velvet pillow on which a delicately wrought tiara rested.

Guillermo picked it up gingerly and looked it over. It was set with emeralds and, upon closer inspection, had a few strands of blonde hair snagged in the filigree whorls of it’s fine silverwork and a spattering of dried blood inside the band. Guillermo couldn’t tell if this was a threat-- an implication that the fate of the tiara’s former owner might befall him-- or simple carelessness. Either way it was rather impersonal, which was a bit of a disappointment. Guillermo had almost hoped the challenge of the rapier would be repaid with a set of stakes. 

Guillermo reminded himself that his betrothed was Nandor the Relentless-- an infamous and well studied figure, and Guillermo was a scholar of all things vampiric. Guillermo was well known in Trestait, but he doubted many vampires had heard of him. To vampires a family of slayers were an amalgamation, each generation merely a series of waves. Given their comparative lifespans, they didn’t see much reason to keep up with individual humans. So of course Guillermo knew more about Nandor than vice versa. It hadn’t been difficult for him to recognize a gift the vampire might appreciate, even having met him in person only once. 

_Still_ , Guillermo thought with irritation, _I at least gave a gift I’d enjoy receiving._ He somehow doubted Nandor was a fan of tiaras. Glancing at the vampire’s hair, Guillermo thought to himself that if Nandor had worn a tiara any time in the past decade it probably would still be tangled in there. 

Well, that was fine. Nandor would get to know him. They would get to know one another. Even if Nandor didn’t seem to like him all that much, he’d at least appreciate the value of _getting_ to know him, right? Guillermo noted that he was doing a lot of rationalizing lately. That was probably bad.

“Now, ah, if there is nothing else you require tonight, humans…” Empress Tilda trailed off. She was obviously prompting them to make themselves scarce, presumably so that she and her companions could fall upon their gift in private.

“I _did_ , actually, have a point I wished to clarify, about my itinerary,” Guillermo said, holding a finger up. Empress Tilda pursed her lips briefly but then, perhaps reasoning that it was in her Empire’s favor to be magnanimous, lifted her chin and waved her gloved hand in a gesture encouraging him to continue.

“When, exactly, will I have an opportunity to speak to my betrothed privately?”

"Pri- privately?" the Empress’ echoed, her shock such that she took her eyes off of the human prisoners for the only second time since they’d been unveiled. 

“Yes,” Guillermo confirmed, smiling. “Privately.” 

Empress Tilda looked Guillermo over with confusion, and then turned her face to Nandor, who for his part appeared mildly alarmed. If only Guillermo could ascribe this response to the vampire having some inkling of what a threat he could pose, rather than sheer dread at the thought of enduring his company.

“Just to talk,” Guillermo added. This seemed to bring the Empress out of her surprise, and a flicker of amusement passed over her face. She leaned to her side towards Nandor, looking down at Guillermo through heavy lidded eyes.

“Think you can manage to keep your hands off him, Nandor?” she asked in a low tone that she may or may not have thought private. Nandor grunted in response, which she seemed to consider an assent.

“It shall be arranged,” she decreed, voice returning to a bombastic volume as she struck her fist against arm of her throne. She leaned forward, a sharp, dangerous grin splitting across her face. “Now, _shoo_ , would you? There’s... vampiric business to be attended to.”

The moment he crossed the threshold of the reception hall Guillermo began counting seconds. He got up to ten before the screaming started in earnest. The prisoners had already been screaming when they left-- but as a slayer he knew that the sound of a human wailing in anticipatory dread, no matter how profound their fear, could never be mistaken for the visceral, _animal_ sounds that people made in the actual process of their death. 

He began counting again, this time waiting for the screaming to stop. He barely reached seven. 

Guillermo swore under his breath. Things were a lot worse in Daptes than he’d thought. 

“Leslie Carpenter!” Manuel exclaimed suddenly, jarring Guillermo out of his thoughts. He shot a look of confusion back at his cousin. «I thought of another one, Memo. Leslie Carpenter.»

“Oh,” Guillermo said, recalling the conversation they’d had in the coach trip over. He snorted. «Leslie Carpenter didn't want to marry me. He wanted Grandmama's concha recipe and thought that courting me would be the easiest way to get it.»

«Leslie Carpenter would have married you in a heartbeat,» Manuel insisted, «and if you’d let him we wouldn’t be here, you ox.»

Guillermo rolled his eyes. 

«¿Xia, are you just going to let him talk to me like that?» he called back to his sister, «¿Where's your honor as eldest?»

«He's right Manuel. You should not talk to Memo like that,» Xiomara chided. «You should be _much_ meaner. He didn't have to get married to be disqualified, after all, he just had to take someone, _anyone_ , to bed.»

«¡So many guys liked you, Memo!» Manuel exclaimed before Guillermo could speak to defend himself. «¡You could have had _any_ of them! Yet you stand before us a virgin. Disgraceful.»

«And now you are betrothed to a leech with the personality of a boar,» Xiomara mused. «It is like a parable. Too obsessed with his job, he ignored all the perfectly good humans ready to woo him and became vampire bait.» She sighed, and when Guillermo glanced back he saw she wore a scowl. «He _is_ handsome though,» she admitted, sounding nearly as irritated by this fact as Guillermo was.

«¿Is he?» Manuel asked, skepticism obvious. Xiomara shot him a withering glance.

«How would you know, dummy, you like women.» She gestured towards Guillermo. «Memo, ¿he's handsome isn't he? Tell this peon.»

Guillermo thought about denying it, but really, what would be the point?

«He's,» he sighed, «yeah, he's pretty handsome.»


	8. Conference

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Guillermo confronts Nandor with a terrible truth.

It was two and a half hours past midnight when Guillermo was awoken by the sharp rap of a fist against his door. He groped for the lantern by his bedside, blind in the darkness, until the soft sound of a match strike and the flare of a flame cut through the gloom and revealed Xiomara had gotten there first. In the flickering light they shared a silent exchange-- tilts of the head and motions of the eyes, grimaces and raised eyebrows, a few furtive hand gestures. Guillermo rose from his bed and retrieved a wineskin of holy water, tucking the pouch into the crook of his arm and standing to the left of the door with his back against the wall. By the time he was in position Xiomara had already strapped on her scabbard and drawn a stake from her bandolier, and at her nod he reached out and opened the door.

“Nandor the Relentless is available,” droned a croaking voice from the other side of the doorway. “For, for a conversation with his betrothed,” the voice added, a shade more nervously. He’d probably just noticed the stake.

“Oh!” Guillermo exclaimed, squeezing the wineskin in his surprise but fortunately managing to close off the neck just in time to avoid melting some unfortunate vampire messenger. He hadn’t expected Nandor to want to meet so soon. Guillermo recapped the pouch of holy water and poked his head out from behind the door to address the vampire waiting there. Guillermo guessed he was probably a page based on his uniform. In Daptes, like Trestait, the role of the page was customarily filled by the young, but the vampiric definition of ‘young’ meant that age rarely correlated with appearance the way it did in humans. This page looked like he was somewhere in his eighties, skin wrinkled and back hunched slightly.

“Could you give me just a minute?” he asked, holding up a finger and smiling apologetically. The page nodded, and Guillermo hurried over to his valise and began rifling through it. He looked over a variety of small packages, debating which to take, and finally retrieved a flat wooden box and put it on his bed. He retrieved a pair of breeches and a jacket and pulled them on over his tunic. It was too dark in the guest quarters for his mirror to be much help. He’d just have to hope his appearance wasn’t too terrible. He carded his fingers through his hair and picked up the box he’d selected. “Okay, ready,” he said, walking to the doorway and gesturing for the vampire to show them the way.

The page led them to the door of the inner parlor room of the Temple of Blood Devourers. Guillermo took a moment to settle himself, fiddling with the wooden container in his hands. More than a decade of work as a vampire slayer had, fortunately, well accustomed him to sudden awakenings late at night. He was nervous, but at least he wasn’t too groggy.

He turned the doorknob and stepped into the room, closing the door behind him in defiance of the displeased look Xiomara shot him as he did so.

Nandor was standing stiffly in the center of the parlor, staring into a fire that had been lit in the hearth.

 _He sure seems to like staring at fires_ , Guillermo thought idly. Was that a vampire thing? Guillermo was pretty sure that wasn’t a vampire thing. He actually thought it might be a moth thing.

Guillermo cleared his throat.

Nandor’s pupils had been thin, knife-like, as he’d gazed into the light of the crackling flames. When he turned his face away from the hearth and looked at Guillermo they expanded, rounded, like a droplet of blood seeping through fabric. Like a yucca flower blossoming open under moonlight. Like teeth parting to reveal a throat like a void, a mouth agape and all-devouring. Guillermo couldn’t help but shiver slightly. It was a predatory, rapacious stare, and the part of him that was foolish and horny and already too attached for his own good insisted on holding it up as proof that, despite all his bluster and snide words, Nandor couldn’t be _entirely_ immune to whatever charm Guillermo seemed to wield over vampires.

Nandor rounded on him at once, taking long quick strides across the parlor flood, gloved hand clutching the grip of his sword, nostrils flared and dark eyes blown wide. For a moment Guillermo had a wishful thought of the vampire shoving him back against the wall and kissing him viciously, and he felt his breath hitch and a tiny thrill zap up his spine. But no sooner had he begun entertaining this fantasy than Nandor halted in his tracks, flashed his teeth in a momentary grimace. Guillermo resisted the urge to physically deflate in disappointment. 

"Are you planning to renege then, human?” Nandor asked carefully, scrutinizing his face. “You signed the contract. There will be penalties for your Kingdom," he threatened. Or perhaps warned. 

"I'm not planning to renege," Guillermo reassured. Or perhaps taunted.

"Then why request to meet with me?" Nandor demanded. 

Yes, that _was_ the question, wasn’t it? A question with a lot of answers, only a few of which Guillermo was willing to confess to. He decided he’d start with something that would be an easy sell.

“I wanted to give you something," he said. 

Nandor narrowed his eyes at Guillermo. “We have already exchanged gifts,” he noted. “That part is over with.” 

Guillermo sighed. Alright, not such an easy sell, apparently. 

“We exchanged gifts that were workshopped by dozens of advisors and courtiers and negotiators, paid for by our leaders, in a big show of diplomatic pageantry,” he said. “I wanted to get you something that _I_ would actually give as a gift, something I thought you might like.” Guillermo usually defaulted to baking something when an occasion called for a present or contribution to a celebration, but that wasn’t an option when one’s giftee was a vampire. Guillermo had considered, and brought with him, a number of possible presents-- ultimately selecting the one now in his hand. He hoped he’d chosen well. “Here,” he said, holding out the wooden box before he could second guess himself further. 

Nandor looked down at the container with suspicion. He slowly removed his hand from the pomel of his sword and reached into the inner pocket of his coat, retrieving a dagger. He crouched down and gradually reached out with the dagger, poking the tip of the blade into the seam of the box and prying so the lid cracked open. He squinted into the thin aperture as if expecting it to be spring loaded with holy sacrament. When nothing happened, the vampire grunted and flipped the lid entirely off as if shucking open an oyster. He looked at the contents of the box, then at Guillermo, then at the box again. He stood back to his full height, tucked the knife back into his coat and crossed his arms.

“It is combs,” the vampire said. He wrinkled his nose, a furrow appearing between his eyebrows. “What do I need combs for? I already _have_ combs.”

“Do you?” Guillermo let out a soft snort, eyeing Nandor’s unruly mane of hair. “It doesn’t look like you do.”

“What?” Nandor asked, the tone of his voice somewhere between confusion and offense.

“Your hair,” Guillermo explained. “It’s a mess right now. It’s been a mess every time I’ve seen you, actually.” 

Nandor glared silently at Guillermo, but gradually reached a gloved hand over his shoulder and behind his head, patting the hair that flowed over the back of his neck and narrowing his eyes. “It is _not_.”

“Try _without_ the gloves on.” Guillermo advised. Nandor only glowered for a moment, but then slowly lowered his hand and tugged his glove off one finger at a time. It was a precise, haughty gesture which highlighted his ridiculously long fingers, and Guillermo tried not to let the sight go directly to his dick. The vampire repeated his hair checking motion, but this time his eyes widened in shock.

“Hey!” he exclaimed, appalled. “It is all _tangly_!”

“Told you,” Guillermo couldn’t resist teasing, smiling a little bit. “To be fair, I’m sure that kind of thing is difficult to notice, since you can’t use a mirror and all,” he added, feeling a strange tug to soothe Nandor’s obvious distress as the vampire continued grabbing at his hair and began to pace in small, inconsistent circles. Nandor looked strangely vulnerable like this-- an apex predator thrown entirely out of his element, all his talents for strategy and warfare rendered immaterial in this context. 

_He’s not cute_ , Guillermo lied to himself.

Nandor turned his attention to Guillermo, and took a fluid, purposeful stride towards him that made the hairs at the back of Guillermo’s neck prickle, the breath in his lungs catch. But he stopped short again. He didn’t move within arm’s reach of Guillermo, didn’t touch him, merely stared at him in indignation.

“You noticed it,” Nandor said, pointing at him in accusation. “You noticed it with your _pathetic_ human eyes that need _spectacles_. You cannot be the only one who has noticed, yet no one has told this to me before. How is this possible?” he demanded. 

Guillermo shrugged. "I mean, that's what happens when everybody around you is scared of you. There's no one around who’s willing to tell you that you have bed head. Or coffin head, I guess.”

Nandor scowled at him for another moment, then let his eyes slip down to the box Guillermo was still holding, his expression becoming pensive.

“So, these are for the hairs...” he said.

Guillermo nodded. “This one,” Guillermo indicated the steer horn peineta, “is actually for decoration. You can wear it in your bun.”

Nandor’s hand returned to the back of his head, hiding the aforementioned bun from view.

“It is not a bun, it is a topknot,” he protested.

“Is there a difference?” Guillermo asked.

“ _Yes_ ,” Nandor replied with indignation that Guillermo found endearing despite himself. “One is for holding your helmet affixed in _battle_ and one is a silly _hair decoration_ ,” he explained, stomping his foot to emphasize his words.

“You can wear it in your _topknot_ , then,” Guillermo said, trying not to laugh as he picked up the peineta. “If you lean down I can-”

“No!” Nandor exclaimed, bringing his other hand to cover the first and taking two steps backwards. He glared between Guillermo and his present in silence before gradually lowering his hands and gesturing to a side table. “You will leave the combs with me.”

Guillermo refrained from pointing out that this was kind of the point of a gift. He walked to the table indicated, put the peineta back in the box and the box down on the tabletop. When he looked back to Nandor, the vampire was watching him with an unreadable expression.

“We are done now, then?” Nandor asked, not bothering to hide how eager he was to leave. Whatever fleeting affinity Guillermo had briefly felt with the vampire quickly petered out in the face of his obvious displeasure at his company. 

“I mean, I did also want to- to talk to you,” Guillermo said. “One on one, without all the posturing and the politics and nonsense. We're getting _married_ , Nandor. We're going to be living together."

"What is there to speak about?” Nandor asked. “So long as you are not reneging, we will be married irregardless."

"Don't you at least think we should get to know each other, Nandor? You don't know anything about me."

“What is there to know?” Nandor scoffed and waved his hand in dismissal. “I am Nandor the Relentless. You are human man. You like combs. That is already enough to know. I dismiss you.”

“Nandor-” Guillermo started, irritation rising.

“I _dismiss_ you,” Nandor cut him off, repeating his shooing gesture.

Guillermo stared wordlessly at his betrothed for a minute before sighing and leaving.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's funny what things will and will not upset the Historical Accuracy goblin that lives in my head. Like it's fine with "flex" and "optics" but I try to write a character lighting a candle and its like "hey!!! strike matches weren't invented until 1826!!"


	9. Rehearsal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Guillermo draws a line, and Nandor attempts to reciprocate a kindness.

The wedding rehearsal took place at the closest approximation Daptes and Trestait could find to neutral ground-- the ruins of the ancient City of Seerkut. Seerkut was only a small distance from Daptes’ capital, but it had been abandoned centuries before the Empire had formed, and without any human inhabitants there wasn’t much reason for vampires to bother claiming it. The ceremony itself would occur at the same location, though with far more pageantry and for a far larger audience than the rehearsal, which was really just a formality. The only witnesses present were Arjan, a few guards, and each kingdom’s chief negotiators.

The area was scenic in a haunting, ancient way, Guillermo thought as he gazed over the city’s weathered ruins, but it would not have been his first choice for his wedding.

Guillermo thought about the cathedral in which he had once thought he would some day be married-- where his parents had been married and his grandparents before them. He idly imagined a world where the leverage between nations was balanced differently, and Trestait’s negotiators perhaps a little more fond of twisting the knife, in which Nandor would have had to concede to having the ceremony there. He thought of Nandor standing trembling in pain before the pulpit, teeth grit in agony, blinking blood from his eyes as the holiness of the space fought to repel him. He thought of Nandor unwelcome, wounded and suffering.

It was an image which, at the moment, Guillermo could see the appeal of. If the trend he’d observed over the course of the rehearsal so far held for the rest of it, it was an image which was only going to get more and more appealing with every moment he spent in Nandor’s company.

Nandor had shown up late to the wedding rehearsal by three quarters of an hour. 

Late and bedraggled, with blood smeared across his face and his hair quite possibly even _more_ of a disaster than usual. Offering no apologies, he had then proceeded to complain about the weather being too hot and the ruins being too decrepit and the sand being too coarse. He had sneered when Arjan, playing the part of the officiant, had instructed him to hold Guillermo’s hands. When he’d finally acquiesced, he’d touched Guillermo so gingerly that one would think the human was covered in fleas, and stared at their joined hands with an expression of unease. Nandor didn’t seem to be paying much attention to what was being said, requiring the prompt of multiple throat clearings from the werewolf when they came to the part where he needed to speak, and then quickly disappearing back into his mind as his eyes bore holes like stigmata into the backs of Guillermo’s hands. 

Guillermo was idly wondering what in the world he was thinking so intently about when Arjan picked the wedding lasso up from the altar and looped it around them, causing Nandor to startle. The vampire blinked in confusion and then prickled like a cat, shoulders hunched and teeth bared. He looked askance at the loop of white silk rope as if it were a constricting snake. Or perhaps made of silver. Or on fire. Perhaps all three.

"What is this?" he demanded, glaring daggers at the werewolf. "Unbind me!"

"It's just the wedding lasso," Guillermo said. If Nandor had been listening to Arjan he would have known this. In fact, if he had read the script supplied ahead of time, he would have known about this aspect of the ceremony coming in. But of course he hadn’t.

"What does that Laszlo bastard have to do with this shit?" Nandor asked, looking around furtively.

" _Lasso_ ,” Guillermo corrected. “It’s a tradition in my family, in our culture. It represents a couple joining as one."

"I do not like it," Nandor decreed, lip peeling back in a wince of discomfort. Guillermo couldn't say he felt all that much sympathy. 

"It could be worse,” he noted, raising an eyebrow, “traditionally it's made out of a rosary."

Nandor hissed at the very idea, snatching his hands out of Guillermo's and crossing them over his chest.

"I do not _like_ it," he repeated, as if this pronouncement was tantamount to ratifying a law against such things. "I shall _not_ have it included into my wedding." 

Guillermo felt his face twitch.

"That's not your call,” he pointed out, his irritation slipping into his voice. “That's not how this is going to work. We are getting bonded according to _both_ of our customs-- at least as much as we can given the circumstances. I make compromises to you, and _you_ make them to _me_. It’s not _your_ wedding, its _ours_."

Nandor seemed entirely appalled by the introduction of such a concept. He looked to Arjan as if expecting the man to intervene. Arjan shrugged.

“What he said,” the werewolf pronounced.

Nandor seethed with silent outrage at this verdict, turning to stare at the floor and shuffling his feet for a minute, then looked back up and towards Guillermo.

"How long must we wear the rope?" he asked.

"Just until the ceremony ends,” Guillermo assured him. "Then it's taken off."

More silence, more shuffling, and finally: "... _Fine_ ," Nandor grumbled, sounding as if he’d had to force the word out.

Guillermo closed his eyes and took a few centering breaths. Would it actually _kill_ Nandor to show even the smallest amount of willingness to compromise? If this marriage was going to work out, Guillermo could not be the only one making sacrifices. (A nagging part of Guillermo's brain pointed out that if he was looking for compromise in a marriage, maybe he shouldn't have gotten betrothed to a vampire whose byname was "the Relentless.")

"And now we will commence the binding of blood,” Arjan announced, prompting Guillermo to open his eyes again. “Nandor will sup of Guillermo's blood and Guillermo will sup of Nandor's.” The werewolf tilted his head in confusion. “Wait, won’t that turn little dude into a vampire?”

“We’re using wine as a proxy,” Guillermo explained, wondering if anyone besides him had actually read the damned script. He met Nandor’s eyes and outstretched his hand. Nandor showed no willingness to retake it. “Do I need to explain the blood binding ceremony to you too?”

Nandor made a noise of indignation and snatched hold of his hand.

“I know what to do, human,” he snapped. “I will take the knife,” he glanced at the implement on the altar but did not reach for it, “and I will, cut it," he muttered, tracing a path where the blade of his knife would bite into the skin with the tip of a long fingernail. "And then I will do," a strange expression flickered over the vampire’s face, too ephemeral to name definitively, "the _supping_." He awkwardly bent down and put his mouth in the general vicinity of Guillermo's fingertips before rearing back up and dropping his hand as if it were plated in silver. Then, with great reluctance, he held his other hand up for Guillermo to take. Guillermo did so, reaching for the chalice on the altar and tipping it over Nandor’s hand as if pouring wine into his palm. He mimed drinking from Nandor’s hand, and for the hell of it stuck out his pinky finger while doing so. For a second he could swear he saw a phantom sparkle of what could have been amusement in Nandor's eyes, but then it was gone.

“And then you will seal the pact with a kiss, made with each other's life upon your lips,” Arjan read.

"I'm not doing that," Nandor grunted, looking away from Guillermo and snatching his hand back into his cape. "Not this time," he amended.

"Ooo,” jeered a gleeful voice from their audience. “Nandor going for that _never-been-kissed_ vintage for his wedding day, eh?"

Nandor looked aside at Simon the Devious in a way that suggested to Guillermo that he liked the other vampire roughly as much as Guillermo did. Well, at least they agreed on one thing.

Later that night the page who had summoned Guillermo the first time returned, this time carrying the message that Nandor was requesting his company before his departure. 

«¿How does my hair look?» he’d asked his sister after a few minutes trying to coif it in his mirror with debatable success.

«¿Are you actually putting in _effort_ for this leech?» Xiomara had asked, and at his silence and embarrassed shrug, winced in apparent pity. «Aye, Memo. _¿Why?_ »

Guillermo carded his fingers through his hair and wondered the same thing, but only for a moment, before walking into the inner parlor. He found Nandor hunched over and pacing restlessly, his long cape sweeping over the floor behind him. He looked up at the sound of Guillermo’s entrance and met his eyes but quickly looked away and did not say anything. Guillermo waited through a few seconds of awkward silence before resigning himself to the duty of initiating the conversation Nandor himself had requested.

"I was told you wanted to see me before I left?" he prompted.

Nandor grunted in response. Nandor seemed to do a lot of grunting in response, and it didn't give Guillermo much to work with. Suddenly the vampire stopped, straightened his posture so that he assumed his full height. Guillermo noticed a bundle of fabric which he had been clutching to his chest. Nandor walked directly towards him, with that preternatural grace of a predator which made the hair on the back of Guillermo’s neck prickle, and thrust forth the bundle, which was revealed to be a lumpy drawstring bag.

"Here’s this," Nandor said, depositing the bag into Guillermo’s hand and then withdrawing his arms into his cape as if escaping the strike range of a viper. Guillermo waited a moment to see if he was going to say anything else, and when he didn't he looked down to the bag and drew its neck open. It was filled with what he quickly identified as some kind of woodchips-- dark in color but striated with lighter grainlines, smoothed and almost glossy with a faintly familiar resinous fragrance. "They're for smelling enjoyment," Nandor explained stiffly, "to set on fire."

"Sort of like... incense?" he ventured to guess.

"It is oud," Nandor said, which Guillermo supposed was a ‘yes.’ “It is a nice thing.”

Guillermo looked between Nandor and the pouch, and realized suddenly that this was a _gift_. Nandor had given him a _courting gift_. One _he_ had chosen, rather than his Empress. Something he liked and thought Guillermo would like.

Nandor was not a vampire of particularly elegant words, Guillermo was coming to realize, but some of his actions showed glimpses of a person willing to attempt to make a relationship on good terms. He was reaching out, in his own awkward way. Perhaps Guillermo’s heart was foolish to sing at such bare efforts, but he told himself they surely had not been bare to Nandor.

“Thank you,” he said, smiling at Nandor. Nandor smiled back. Or perhaps grimaced. It was a little difficult to tell just by looking at his mouth, but his eyes seemed happy. Feeling reckless, Guillermo moved forward to hug him.

“No!” Nandor yelped, jolting back and warding him away with an outstretched arm as if Guillermo had come at him with a crucifix. “That is too close! We are not doing that yet!”

“I wasn’t trying to kiss you or anything,” Guillermo muttered indignantly, feeling very embarrassed.

“Well, good,” Nandor said slowly, lowering his arm with twitching fingers and looking aside. “Burn some before the wedding, so I will smell you less,” he ordered, and with that turned away and stalked out of the room. Guillermo watched him go. He drew closed the bag and lifted one of his arms slightly, sniffing the arm gusset of his shirt. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Amazing effort from Nandor but he DOES NOT stick the landing. Starting next chapter we return to his POV for a bit.


	10. Ceremony

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Nandor is married for the second and/or 38th time, depending on how you count.

Nandor paced inside the antechamber because it was easier to think in motion. It was easier to think and it was harder to hear his human's breath, his heart beating, under the skreel of metal plating and the shift of maille and leather. And it was easier to not look at him, and it was also easier to look at him but just a little bit for a split second without seeming to have done so on purpose. The space in which they were awaiting their cues was far too small. The mortal was too close, even sitting at the far opposite corner of the chamber. Nandor could _smell_ him.

It had been a bad idea to have given his human the oud, and a worse idea to tell him to use it before the wedding. This was only a little bit because it only complimented his cinnamon and warm skin smell. Mostly it was a bad idea because now Guillermo smelled like _home_. His human smelled like coming back from a long campaign to rest within familiar walls, reading poetry on a warm summer's night, being a child lifted on his father's shoulders. It was _maddening_. He smelled like something that already belonged in Nandor's world, had belonged for centuries, something he'd once had a name for. 

“I’m also feeling kind of nervous, you know,” the human confessed. Nandor grunted in response, continuing to prowl the length of the room. He very well knew the human called Guillermo was nervous. 

The mortal certainly put up a strong front, that much Nandor could appreciate-- he looked on the surface defiant and proud, collected. But when Nandor neared closer to him, close enough to reach out and be touching him, he could hear the human’s heartbeat quickening like a rabbit’s, his breath coming unsteadily and his pupils swelling like blood pooling in a wound. He was frightened of Nandor, which he well _should_ be. Fear was far more appropriate a response to Nandor the Relentless’ presence than the facade of composure Guillermo wore to hide it, the bizarre warmth and interest he feigned, the impudence that seemed in moments almost to border on taking _amusement_ at Nandor’s expense.

Why precisely Guillermo insisted on hiding his dread so steadfastly confused Nandor somewhat. He'd assumed it a show for the other humans, but the mortal maintained it even when alone with Nandor. Perhaps he thought to fool the vampire, not realizing he could hear through his guise so easily. Humans thought themselves terribly complex, but they were very simple creatures, and generally not overly difficult to sort out.

Whatever Guillermo’s reasoning, Nandor supposed he was fortunate for it. The human’s stoicism saved Nandor from having to tolerate the distasteful blubbering and flinching he’d expected from a human betrothed to him. That was good. Nandor did not like the idea of Guillermo flinching from him. It would be unpleasant. 

Nandor stopped in his tracks as the implication of the human’s words suddenly struck him. Also? What the fuck did the human mean, _also?_

"Are you meaning to imply that _I_ am nervous, human?" he demanded of his betrothed.

Guillermo, his elbow on his knee and his cheek cradled in his hand, gave him one of those maddening lookovers that suggested that he could see something in Nandor that Nandor himself could not.

"Aren't you?" he asked.

"I am Nandor the Relentless," Nandor the Relentless declared, spine straight and lip curled into a sneer. "I am an immortal warrior. A feller of _nations_. I was reaping the lives of my enemies by the thousands before the tree that would one day become your great grandmother's _cradle_ had even _sprouted_ from it's _seed_. I am not some trembling human _whelp_. I do not become _nervous_."

Guillermo raised his eyebrows in an expression entirely void of the appropriate respect, awe, and terror due to the vampire's pronouncement.

"Not even on your wedding day?” he probed.

"No. Of course not,” Nandor scoffed, resuming his pacing for entirely strategic reasons which were completely divorced from any neurotic emotion or worried tension. “I wasn't nervous the first time, and I am not nervous now, either.”

“The- the first time?” Guillermo repeated. “You mean the rehearsal?"

"No, I mean my first _wedding_ ," Nandor explained, rolling his eyes at the human’s obtuseness.

"I didn't know you were married," the mortal noted. Nandor shrugged.

"I am not still married. My wives left me. And also it has been seven hundred years since then, so by now they are probably all dead. So it is fine."

"Sorry, _wives_? As in the plural?"

"Yes, I had 37 of them," Nandor said, beginning to feel a bit irked by all this questioning. What business of the human’s was it that he’d been married before?

"Well… what happened?" Guillermo asked. Nandor gave his betrothed a piercing look to indicate his utter _un_ amusement with these meddlesome queries, which at least reaped the reward of a sharp inhale and dry swallow from the human.

"We exchanged vows. There was a party,” he explained slowly. “The sort of things which happen at weddings, with which you should surely be familiar by now.”

"I mean, what happened that they _left_?" the human pressed.

“I was becoming a vampire.” Nandor shrugged again. That, at least, should be self explanatory.

Guillermo opened his mouth, but whatever foolish inquiry he had next was cut off by a knock at the door indicating it was time for Nandor to enter the ceremony space. He left the chamber without a backwards glance.

The officiant who awaited Nandor at the altar was not the person who had been at the rehearsal. He was wider, and he was also not a werewolf. He looked like a human, and from his garb appeared to be some manner of sorcerer or witch. Nandor scrutinized the stranger, trying to puzzle out his identity. His thoughts were interrupted by a soft clearing of a throat beside him. He glanced over. His human had arrived by his side. Nandor must have missed the bit with him walking down the aisle. He recalled that Guillermo seemed to pay much attention to those silly details of ceremonial events which Nandor always seemed to forget about. Nandor mouthed ‘who the fuck is this guy?’ at Guillermo, indicating the officiant with a tilt of his head. Guillermo mouthed back the word ‘wallets,’ which was completely useless to Nandor.

“Alright, first off,” the officiant began in a growling, throaty voice, “welcome everyone, and thanks for coming here to witness the wedding of the vampire Nandor the Relentless,” he gestured here at Nandor, who frowned at his hand until he retracted it, “and the human Guillermo de la Cruz,” there was a spattering of soft hissing from the vampiric audience as the man gestured in turn to the human. _Pretty rude._

“We are here tonight to join the two in, uh, both holy _and_ unholy matrimony. Something a bit new,” the officiant continued. “Not a lot of folks around ordained to do both types, but lucky for these two I was available. I’m Wallace the Necromancer, by the way. I have cards in the back, take one. And while I don’t know the happy couple personally, anyone can see that they look...” Wallace the Necromancer trailed off, glancing between Guillermo’s face and Nandor’s. Nandor was squinting at Guillermo in displeasure-- if the Necromancer’s name was _Wallace_ , why had Guillermo mouthed _‘wallets’_ to him? Guillermo was responding with a nonplused, almost tired, expression which did nothing to address Nandor’s silent complaint. 

“Well, they’ve only got eyes for one another, that’s for certain!” Wallace chuckled, then cleared his throat. “Alright, clasp hands now, you two.”

Guillermo reached his hands out in front of him, palms down. Nandor’s fingers curled instinctively into fists, but he pried them back open and then away from his sides, grasped Guillermo’s hands with his own. Just as in the rehearsal, the mortal was very warm. Nandor could feel the pulse of blood beneath his skin as sure as he could hear his heart’s faint beating. If he made his hands tight like a fist the human’s bones would crack like dried twigs and his wet flesh would weep through his fingers.

“Now, marriage is not a commitment which is to be embarked upon lightly,” Wallace announced. “It is a union representing a profound responsibility, a deep obligation, and an enduring challenge, all which must be met in order to reap its rewards. Tonight you are entering a pledge to love and support, protect and cherish, honor and obey. You are promising to take on one another’s burdens and woes, to provide one another with pleasure and happiness. This is an oath which must be upheld, in partnership, for so long as you both reside within the mortal plane. Do you understand this contract, which you are making now before your friends, families, and the various higher and lower powers of the universe?”

“I do,” Guillermo said.

“I do,” Nandor said. He did not like hearing all of this poetic waxing, in truth, nor did he need reminding of how profound a commitment he was embarking upon, or how ill equipped he was to meet the tender requirements outlined by words like ‘love’ and ‘cherish.’ He tried to ignore the next bout of saccharine verse, focusing on the faint tint of veins at the back of his human’s hand, the small ridges that marked the location of tendons under skin. In the edge of his vision Nandor saw the necromancer pick up the wedding loop thingy from the altar, and Nandor was obligated to duck his head briefly so that the rope could be lifted over his helmet and put around his shoulders.

“...lasso, to symbolize your voluntary, inseparable binding,” Wallace was saying as Nandor eyed the garland which the humans had insisted upon adorning them with. It was made up of silk cord woven with white flowers. Nandor recognized orange blossoms, their cream and citric scent. In his homeland they had been a symbol of chastity, worn in marriage by brides. His wives’ hairs had smelled of them for weeks after their wedding. There was also a strange flower which Nandor did not know, bell shaped with fleshy petals and an alluringly sweet perfume. 

It was a heady yet somehow also refreshing mixture of scents, and in the very least it covered most of his betrothed’s own scent. That would be good, considering the next part of the ceremony.

“As you are linked together in body now, so too will your lives and your fates be intertwined from this night forward. May your hearts and souls be knit together,” the necromancer said. “And now we will commence the binding of blood, in which Nandor will sup of Guillermo's blood and Guillermo, through proxy of wine, will sup of Nandor's.”

The human’s heartbeat quickened, but he showed no evidence of fear in his placid face, in the intense darkness of the eyes that met Nandor’s own. His voice barely trembled as he spoke the ritual words.

"Drink of my blood,” Guillermo said, “and by this I will be bound to you."


	11. Ritual

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Nandor gets a taste.

Wallace the Necromancer plucked the ritual dagger from the altar and offered it forth to Nandor. Nandor scrutinized the weapon. The blade was chipped obsidian, sharp and certainly befittingly macabre, but also terribly brittle. It would have no flexibility, and if it broke it would get splinters in his human's flesh which would rub against the delicate muscle and tear at it. He released one of Guillermo’s hands, disdainfully bypassing the obsidian dagger and reaching instead for the short kard at his side, unsheathing it and turning the mortal’s hand so that his palm faced upwards. 

If Nandor allowed himself to be consumed by the mechanics of the ritual, he could almost forget that it threatened to be his undoing. He held his betrothed’s hand carefully in place and pressed the edge of his knife to the pad of the human’s thumb, and he did not allow his own hand to tremble in the slightest. _I will be fine_ , he told himself. He’d fed beforehand, fortifying himself against temptation as he’d done in preparation for each meeting with his human.

But then he pulled his blade from the incision and the sight, the _smell_ of his betrothed’s blood freely flowing called to him as if he'd abstained for _weeks_. Like rain called to the throat of a man dying of thirst. Like food called to the tongue of the starving. Like the sun had once, long ago, called Nandor to rise with the day, to worship.

He did not return his kard to it’s sheath. He needed something that he could grasp with crushing force to anchor himself as he fought to keep from throwing himself upon the wound. He moved his hand back from under Guillermo’s so that he held only the human's fingertips in his own, watching the blood seep from his thumb into the valley of his cupped palm like a mountain spring feeding into a lake. He waited, though it was the most difficult thing he could remember doing in all of his life and afterlife, for a sufficient portion of liquid to pool. His breath was coming heavy and deep, drawing the scent of his human’s blood deep into his lungs. Finally he could resist no longer, and he bowed his head to lave his tongue against the hollow of the mortal’s palm.

The taste of Guillermo's blood _sung_ in Nandor’s mouth. It sung in a high, trembling tone like the ring of a bell, like the radiance of a gong. Like the voice of a soul who knows himself incomplete, who drunkenly composes a ghazal of exalting and fruitless praise to his beloved-- a voice which quavers with longing and pain, with ecstasy and blasphemous devotion. It was a taste so pure that it was _bracing_ , like cold air at the back of the mouth, like the bite of strong spirits in the bloodstream, like the dry woody astringency of walnut skins and bitter almonds. Yet at the same time it was sweet and burning and smooth over his tongue, a flavor like fine wine poured into his cup from a gilded vessel by beautiful hands, fiery and delectable and beckoning. It was the taste of hunger and coveting and grasping and _needing_. 

The taste of Guillermo’s blood was the taste of _more_.

Nandor couldn’t help the ferocity with which he lapped the blood from Guillermo’s hand, nor the low growling moan that escaped him as he did so, nor the sudden tightening of his grip upon his human’s fingers. With hasty work made of the liquid gathered in the human's palm, he tilted his head and probed the tip of his tongue into the still weeping wound, parting the barely clotted seal of mortal flesh and so opening a new wellspring of that beautiful, _luscious_ blood. He was faintly aware of the clattering of his kard against the stone floor as he released it in order to seize hold of the human’s wrist and better position his hand to feed from, sucking the wounded thumb wholly into his mouth.

Guillermo made a noise which was low and strained and _perfect_ , and Nandor was seconds away from yanking him forward and sinking his fangs deep into his wrist when the human flexed his hand against Nandor's face, his short blunt nails scraping the ridge of his jaw and digging into his beard and somehow making Nandor abruptly aware of himself. 

Nandor jerked back, seizing the fleeting moment of lucidity to hastily separate himself from the human’s flesh before he could succumb to the haze of bloodlust again. He couldn’t bring himself to look upon the human’s face, but stared down at the dagger he’d dropped. It shone like a steel gash against the ground. There was a thin line of blood clinging to its edge, and if Nandor picked it up now he would lick it clean, which would be very unhygienic and even less dignified. Additionally, it was actually rather difficult to bend over in this armor. As he glowered at the kard in frustration he saw a hand-- his human’s hand-- not the one which Nandor had cut into but rather it’s counterpart-- retrieve it. Guillermo handled the knife with unexpected ease, picking it up like a saber and pivoting the weapon between his fingers in a fluid transition to an underhanded grip. He leaned forward and slid it back into the sheath at Nandor’s side with a motion that could have resembled stabbing were it not for the gentleness with which he performed it. Nandor glanced at his human’s face and was perplexed to find him grinning softly, almost _fondly_ , at him.

“...Alrighty then!” Wallace the Necromancer exclaimed, cutting into the silence. “Your turn now, Nandor.”

Nandor held his hand out awkwardly. Guillermo cupped the back of it in his own uninjured hand, and with his wounded hand plucked a chalice from Wallace. A scrap of linen had been tied over his thumb while Nandor had contemplated the floor, but the vampire could still smell fresh blood seeping from the incision beneath. Guillermo hovered the vessel of dark red wine over Nandor’s palm, looking at him in expectation. Right. It was time for saying words.

"Drink of my blood," he began to recite, though of course that was wrong now that he thought of it. Guillermo couldn’t do such a thing without losing his humanity. "Well, it is not my blood that you have here, obviously, it is wine," he muttered. "It is supposed to be my blood. Symbolically, it is my blood. Even though it is wine. It still counts." He glanced at the human’s face. He was still smiling, though Nandor could hardly say why. Was the human intending to make a mockery of him? "Just drink of it," he grumbled, "and by this we will be bound excetera." 

The human poured a small portion of the wine and then passed the chalice back to Wallace. His dark eyes did not leave Nandor's own, boring into them as he carefully lifted the vampire’s cupped hand. He rubbed his thumb against the side of Nandor’s finger in a maddening motion as he leaned forward ever so slightly and tilted the wine into his mouth. The backs of Nandor’s fingernails rested on the soft wet skin his lower lip, his human’s warm breath swept across the furrows of his fingertips. The wine was thinner than blood-- it seeped into the crevasses between his fingers in tiny rivulets and wet the places where Guillermo’s flesh rested against his. He felt the moisture clinging to his skin like a patchwork map of ice when Guillermo withdrew.

“Do you, the human Guillermo de la Cruz, being present of your own will and free of enchantment or influence of preternatural suggestion, offer yourself body and soul to your mate?"

"I do," Guillermo said with enviable outwards composure, though his skittering heartbeat betrayed him once more.

"And do you, the vampire Nandor the Relentless, being present of your own will and free of enchantment or influence of preternatural suggestion, offer yourself body and soul to your mate?"

"I do," Nandor said, forcing himself to sound a great deal more confident than he felt. Thankfully he had no traitorous heartbeat himself, and even if he’d had such a thing his human’s ears were weak and puny and would not have overheard it.

"Alright, cheers!" Wallace said, grinning and spreading his arms. "I pronounce you husband and husband. You may seal your pact with a kiss, made with one another’s life upon your lips."

Nandor hesitated for a moment, but then Guillermo rolled his eyes and started to lean in and Nandor was determined that he would _not_ get shown up by this human. Not _again_. He quickly closed the remaining space and crushed their lips together, grasping at the back of his human’s neck with one hand and pulling him flush against his body with the other. There was some hubbub from the crowd-- vampires jeering and humans being affronted probably, but all Nandor really cared to hear was the small, low sound which his human was making against his lips, the listing creak of the nerves beneath his skin firing like a ship rolling in the sea.

Kissing Guillermo was… a _very_ nice experience. For one, it was impossible for the human to make sarcastic faces and rude comments while it was happening, so that was already an improvement. For another, his human’s flesh was soft and warm and _uncharted--_ novel in a way that Nandor felt compelled to master, to know and memorize and make familiar to him. He parted his lips for Nandor’s tongue with reckless disregard for the danger posed by the vampire’s fangs. He tasted sweet and ever so slightly salty, and so very human and so _very_ promising of blood. Breaking away from the kiss proved even more difficult than Nandor had expected. He had to, though. If he did not he risked entering into another frenzy-- out of hunger for blood or out of need to satiate some other primal desire which nature had bestowed in him. When he managed to pull away the human was attractively flushed and seemed almost dazed, eyes dark and deep, half lidded for a split second before they rounded in something like shock.

Nandor turned away, discomfited with the intimacy of the moment, and took the human's arm in order to walk him back up the aisle.


	12. Reception

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Nandor is sad at a party.

“You... looked really nice tonight,” the human Guillermo said. Nandor grunted in response, gazing into his goblet of blood-- fresh and virgin and not half as mouth-watering as that which gushed through the body of the mortal beside him. “Very regal,” said mortal added. “I like your fur mantle. Is it a bear?”

“It _was_ a bear,” Nandor corrected. “Then I killed it.”

“Ah.”

There was a moment of silence. Silence between the two of them, at least, for the chatter of voices and the movement of bodies and the music that suffused the air of the reception occurring around them had of course continued unabated.

The human had been brought back to Nandor’s household in a carriage. It had probably been anticipated that Nandor, too, would have traveled within the carriage-- but before anyone could voice such an expectation to him, he had already changed form and taken to the sky.

As such, Nandor had arrived in his home well before the other members of the wedding party-- well before his divan room had been fully prepared for the reception, even. There had still been pages rushing about. Nandor had occupied himself with correcting their work, straightening folded napkins and evening out the spacing of the seating and inspecting his parquet floor for scratches left by any careless dragging of furniture. He had not much at all savored the notion of having such a number of people in _his_ home, but it was expected of him. It was traditional. Nandor thought back to his first wedding-- the gleeful chattering voices of his brides like a flock of warbling birds, a mirror of polished silver and a scarf of green silk, cardamom and rosewater, the taste of bread and wine. His first wedding had lasted for seven days and seven nights. This one would, in the very least, be over before the sun rose.

“I don't suppose you thought _I_ looked nice tonight, did you?” his human asked. Nandor could hear his heartbeat speed to a clip beneath his voice. He looked the mortal over from the side of his eyes. As Guillermo’s handsomeness was hardly unique to this night, he must have been referring to his clothes. He was wearing rainiments similar to those he’d donned for his portrait-- a light blue suit made up of a pair of closely fitted breeches the waist of which extended to just beneath his chest, beneath this a white high collared tunic with a silk cravat tied into a puffy bow, and above these a short rigid doublet jacket, one which might have been quite plain were it not covered in intricate ornamentation-- flowers and stars embroidered in gold and ivory silk, beads and small jewels like minute sparkling prisms. Looping patterns of braided metallic rope ran an enticing line down the sides of his breeches, as well as edging the hem and sleeves of the doublet. Each shoulder of the jacket was dominated by an elaborately beaded and tasseled epaulette, from which hung shining baubles and an equally decorated mantle of silk.

It was a very fine outfit, clearly. A testimony of wealth and craftsmanship that shone under the light of the candles around them, finer than any treasure Nandor had ever before beheld.

“Your clothes look fine,” he answered, reluctant to admit more than the obvious. 

“What about _me_?” the human Guillermo asked quietly. It was a question which was so absurd that Nandor felt compelled to ignore it. Would have, were he a stronger man. For if the mortal’s clothing was fine in every one of the ways which money could buy, he _himself_ was fine in every one of the ways that only nature could bestow, those which the highest of arts sought in vain to mimic. _And he is mine_ , he thought in disbelief and vindication, pleasure and terror, _he pledged himself to me_. It was no longer a promise, no longer a threat, no longer a concern for Nandor’s future self. It was reality. It was _now_. He had pressed himself against the human’s body and tasted his mouth and felt the thrum of his heartbeat skipping and his breath catching. He had supped of lifeblood from his veins. They were _wedded_. He studied the human-- his bowed lips and his full cheeks, his hairs coiled in smooth loose curls and adorned with white flowers, his small fingers and pointed nose, the voluptuousness of his flesh like silk and goose down pillows stacked upon each other. His eyes, which seemed uncertain, sad, searching, when Nandor met them. Eyes that could surely break any man’s will with ease.

“To me… how you look…” Nandor struggled with his words, “is like the sun.” There was a second in which the glimmer of a smile appeared on the mortal’s face, on his _husband’s_ face, but like a desert mirage it flickered and then dissolved entirely. 

“The thing that turns you into a flaming ball of ash and goo, you mean?” he asked.

“Yes.” Nandor nodded. The human bowed his head, seeming to scrutinize his body for a moment. Once again, the mortal had judged Nandor’s compliments to be insufficient. A crude effigy laid at his feet in pitiful offering. The human sighed in disappointment, and Nandor felt a pang of shame which he quickly rebuked with a surge of indignation. The human was being frivolous and fanciful, to demand tenderness from Nandor when it was so obvious that he was in possession of none.

“I’m going to go over and talk to my family now,” the human said, rising from his seat.

Nandor flinched, wounded that the mortal would discard him so easily, but he fixed his face in a stern frown, determined that he must not show such weakness.

“That is good,” the vampire said, affecting an air of indifference and swirling the blood in his goblet. “I was just going to say to you, that if you wish to have human food, you must eat it with them. I do not wish to witness mortal feeding.”

The human left the wedding table without reply, completing his abandonment. Nandor felt strange watching his husband walk towards the cluster of humans, and stranger still watching the group greet his presence with excited gestures and words Nandor could hear but not understand. He watched them for some moments-- the humans whom his husband resembled and who in turn resembled him. They behaved strangely, not in a manner befitting an occasion such as the marriage of one of their kin to a dangerous vampire. They cried a little, but they also smiled and laughed and a few he’d even seen dancing. They behaved almost as if holding out hope for the mortal finding _happiness_ in this union. 

Perhaps they were glad to be rid of the mortal? The burden of protecting such a delicious, _virginal_ human from predation must surely wear on them. Nandor knew his husband had claimed to be involved in his bloodline’s profession, but he was so small and soft and delicate and beautiful. He could only possibly be an exclusively academic slayer, one who had never raised a stake in his life. Yet the humans seemed affectionate of him, touching him upon the arm and the back and the head, and at times their eyes were wet when they looked upon him. They were making a cacophony of noises-- blood rushing through arteries and air pulling into lungs, chewing dry food and blinking moist eyes and other mortal prey signals which a goblet of tepid blood would never be able to replicate. Nandor’s fangs ached to sink into flesh.

Nandor rose from his seat, deciding it would be best for him to retire early to his crypt.

He crossed the room with an air of purpose and authority which managed to get him across the threshold of the stairwell and up one step before anyone dared interrupt him.

“Where is it that you are going, Nandor?” a voice called from behind him.

Nandor glanced back over his shoulder at the owner of the voice. Vladislav the Poker was loitering just inside the stairwell, nursing a goblet of blood and slumping partially against the wall. 

“I have decided to retire,” Nandor decreed.

“Without your human?” Vladislav cocked his head to the side and raised an eyebrow “That’s a little unusual.” Nandor thinned his lips, glanced through the open doorway to where the human and his family were gathered. Guillermo laughed at something, the sound carrying across the room.

“The human is liking the party,” Nandor said, gesturing curtly towards the self explanatory scene. "I am wanting to retire. I will go alone."

“Are you sure you want to do that, though?” Vladislav asked in a voice of flat curiosity, looking intently towards Nandor over top of his goblet of blood. “That kind of thing might have a bad optic, as Simon the Devious is saying these days.”

Again with the optic. Nandor still didn’t know what precisely it meant, other than it being of some political significance, and he certainly was not going to plead Vladislav to explain it to him. Nandor had an uneasy relationship with Vladislav the Poker. They had much in common, being similar in age and both high ranking members of Daptes’ military, but that also meant Vladislav was the closest thing Nandor had to a rival. Nandor wasn’t sure if Vladislav was baiting him into a fight or advising him on the politics of appearances. He considered continuing on to his crypt in silence. Vladislav was friendly to Viago, and he might tell him to pass to the Empress that Nandor did a poor optic, whatever that was. Nandor sighed in frustration, sweeping his cape aside with his arm in order to turn around in the narrow passage without stepping on it. He passed Vladislav without further word or glance.

“Good to chat with you too,” Vladislav called after him, following up with a muttered “asshole.”

Guillermo’s family noticed Nandor’s approach and became quieter, the woman with bangs from the Aghd Ceremony making hateful eyes at him once again. Nandor fought the urge to bear his fangs at her. He stopped several paces away from the table, waiting for his human to acknowledge his presence, but Guillermo seemed irritatingly determined to pretend not to notice him.

"Guillermo,” he called at last, annoyed at being forced to beckon his husband like a beggar.

“Yes, Nandor?”

“Come," he ordered, snapping his fingers and pointing expectantly at his feet. "We're going to coffin."

His husband’s cheeks became flushed, and for a moment Nandor thought he could pick out the patter of his individual heartbeat amongst those of the other humans, but the subtle tempo was soon washed out by a sudden wave of murmuring and laughter by the vampire guests. 

One of the humans muttered something to Nandor’s husband in a language he did not know, sounding angry. Guillermo said something back, equally indecipherable to Nandor but at least sounding not so angry, and he patted the angry human’s hand. 

Guillermo rose to his feet, walking to Nandor's side, and it suddenly came to Nandor all at once that he was _responsible_ for this human now. For keeping him _alive_. That he would not go back to his human kingdom before the rising of the sun, but remain in Daptes. An Empire full of vampires. As a fragile, weak little human flushed red with the most delectable blood Nandor had ever tasted.

Guillermo did not seem to be inebriated, but Nandor knew he had imbibed wine as part of the ceremony, and that more wine had been supplied to the humans at the reception. Nandor could not recall how much wine was needed to render a human insensible. He did recall, however, that humans who were drunken often fell over and cracked their skulls open and lost all of their brains and died accidentally. That could happen to his husband-- assuming there wasn’t a vampire assassin awaiting in the stairwell to push the mortal and shatter his delicate brain bowl on purpose first. Nandor impulsively reached out and gripped the humans upper arm, yanking him closer to Nandor’s front in order to support him in precaution against these dangers. Guillermo was close enough that Nandor did not have to try to pick up the individual tattoo of his speeding pulse as he escorted him out of the room to a chorus of ribald comments from the vampire guests which he paid little mind to. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guillermo's outfit is based on Traje de Luces (which to me, on a purely aesthetic level, is [definitely](https://www.flickr.com/photos/naturales71/1475386309) [ among](https://www.josemariamanzanares.com/wp-content/galerias/M%C3%A1laga%2C-19-de-agosto-de-2016/JAG5347.JPG) [the](https://www.josemariamanzanares.com/wp-content/galerias/San-Sebasti%C3%A1n%2C-16-de-agosto-de-2016/JAG4277.JPG) [sexiest](https://www.josemariamanzanares.com/wp-content/galerias/sevilla-27-de-marzo-de-2016/IMG_1072.JPG) [outfits](http://www.lascosasdeltoro.com/wp-content/uploads/2017/04/DSC_4547-copia-1.jpg) [a](https://i.pinimg.com/originals/1a/83/9b/1a839bc008a6710140e9ae4550e11cf3.jpg) [human](https://64.media.tumblr.com/67ca46a91ef13b0b0ca01d29c56157ef/tumblr_mohe5qa3EP1qm86t3o1_500.jpg) [can](https://static2.abc.es/media/cultura/2016/01/15/jt2--620x849.jpg) [wear](https://www.artsy.net/artwork/gina-levay-lupita)) with a bit of Charro Suit influence. And yes, the pants are that tight.


	13. Sanction

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Nandor makes the best decision, as well as the worst decision.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Minor Content Advisory: As one might expect by the nature of the fic's premise (Guillermo being the only character who knows he is actually 500% down to fuck Nandor) there will be references to possible non-consensual sexual activity, including social mores condoning marital rape, in this chapter and elsewhere in the story. 
> 
> That said, there will be NO depictions of noncon sexual activity in this story.

There had been no assassins on the stairs, nor any signs of drunken stumbling, which had left Nandor alone with the cadence of the human’s heartbeat and the heat of his body inches from Nandor’s. His hair smelled of oud and of the flowers that had been woven into his curls and those which had adorned the wedding loop-- orange blossom and musk mixed with a novel floral sweetness. But Nandor knew if he only pressed his nose into the hollow behind the angle of his husband’s jaw, if he only buried his face into the crook of his neck, he would smell like human skin and cinnamon and the burning siren call of blood with a taste like ambrosia. And so Nandor had not done any such thing. Nandor had walked the mortal up the stairs and brought him into his crypt and sat him down upon the bed with a firm press to his shoulders.

“Hey, my portrait,” Guillermo remarked as Nandor began the process of removing and storing his weapons, sounding surprised and pleased to note its presence. Nandor glanced at his husband and then at the painting to which he referred.

“Yes. I needed habituate myself to your appearance," Nandor confessed, too weary to make up a more dignified excuse, before returning to his task.

“Oh,” Guillermo said, sounding disappointed. Nandor scowled. What was the human displeased with now? He seemed to have quite a petulant temperament. Perhaps Guillermo was disappointed that Nandor had not used this time to compose an ode to his beauty? To prepare his compliments in advance? Nandor would only have embarrassed himself to try.

Upon finishing the work of putting away his weapons and jewelry Nandor automatically reached for his helmet, lifting it momentarily before he remembered the state of his hairs and yanked it back down. Nandor decided that, in fact, the more clothing he retained tonight the better. With that thought he turned to his open coffin, holding on to the rim as he mounted the stepping stool beside it.

“Uh, Nandor?” the human called from the bed.

“What?” he snapped, refusing to look back at his husband.

“What are you... doing?” the human asked.

“I am going to coffin,” Nandor grunted.

“Do you want me to- to come over?”

Nandor scrutinized his coffin, then the perfectly good bed the human was sitting on.

“No,” he said, slowly, “It is _my_ coffin. That is _your_ bed.”

“But where are we going to…” the human’s face was reddened, and his heart was beating at a sickening tempo, and his breath shook as it escaped his lungs. “Y- you know,” he muttered, twisting his hands in his lap, evidently unable to bring himself to voice the horror to which he referred. “It _is_ our wedding night.”

Nandor had been hoping the human would have forgotten about that. Or at least that the human would think Nandor had forgotten about it, and gratefully take the opportunity not to remind him. That would have been the smart choice. It was foolish of Guillermo to not have seized such an opportunity. It was like a schoolmaster forgetting to give a scheduled test and an irksome pupil reminding him of it. The human was very attractive, rather nice, and more courageous than Nandor had expected, but clearly he was not very intelligent at all. 

And Nandor was tempted. Nandor was so _very_ tempted. He thought about how the human’s body had curled against his when they’d kissed, warm where he was cold and pliable where he was rigid, plentiful where he was sparse. He thought about the softness of Guillermo's skin and the heat of his mouth and the resonance of his blood on Nandor's tongue, of how it would feel to enjoy access to every inch of his flesh. _He is mine_ , Nandor thought. Guillermo, his human, his _husband_ , had pledged himself in service to Nandor. He had sworn obedience and promised pleasure and _offered_ himself body and soul. He was Nandor's mate. And Nandor could do as he pleased with his mate. He was _expected_ to do as he pleased with his mate.

Nandor swiped his tongue across his lip twice before he realized he was doing it, before he saw Guillermo’s eyes fixate on the motion and the fine hairs upon his body stand like plucked gooseflesh. Nandor thought of the sound the human had made against his lips, the same sound he’d made at the reopening of a wound.

Perhaps if the human were rid of his virginity he would prove less tempting to Nandor. Perhaps his blood would seem dull and commonplace without the astringent purity. Perhaps he would seem less beguiling once Nandor had taken knowledge of him. Perhaps he would keep the pride in his eyes, even as his heartbeat skittered with fear, and Nandor would pretend he did not know how much the human dreaded their consummation-- or perhaps this most intimate violation would be enough at last to break that facade, and he would do something too horrible for Nandor to withstand, like weeping.

Nandor shuddered and looked away.

“There is no need for that,” he declared. “We are not to be expected to produce young as a result of this union,” he pointed out. “I am a vampire, after all.”

“I mean, I doubt we'd be having kids if you were alive either,” the human muttered as he rose from the bed and took a step towards Nandor.

“Hey hey hey, stay where I put you!” Nandor commanded, pointing firmly at the location Guillermo had just vacated. The human seemed to struggle briefly with the impulse to disobey before returning to the spot as ordered.

“Nandor,” he said gruffly, with obvious embarrassment, “I _know_ what I signed up for.”

“Yes, well...” Nandor cringed. If the human was unable to recognize the mercy with which he’d been presented, Nandor would have to spell it out for him. “Now you are free of it.” He waved his hand through the air in an elaborate and meaningless gesture. “A nice surprise. Consider it a wedding gift.”

With that matter settled Nandor stepped into his coffin and sat down, shuffling around in an effort to arrange his armor so that he could lay without being poked mercilessly by metal plates. 

“So you’re saying, not tonight?” the human’s voice asked, once more halting Nandor’s motions.

“I am saying not _ever_ ,” Nandor elaborated, hardly wishing to go through this song and dance every night as if living in some bizarre backwards adaptation of _The Thousand Tales_.

“ _Excuse me?_ ” Guillermo squawked, his voice cracking. Nandor glanced aside to see his husband had not only risen from the spot where Nandor had bid him to remain, but was rapidly closing the distance between himself and Nandor’s coffin, his face flushed and fists clenched. Nandor scowled. 

“I _said_ , human,” he reached out and poked his finger sternly against the tip of Guillermo’s nose, “to _stay_ where I _put_ -” The human smacked Nandor’s hand out of his face. Nandor was rendered temporarily mute with indignation, gaping at the human in outrage. 

“When exactly did you decide you were going to pull this?” Guillermo asked. 

“A long time ago,” Nandor sort-of-lied.

“Are you _fucking_ kidding me?” the human exclaimed. That he was incensed was obvious-- Nandor thought with a small pang of guilt that the human probably would have liked to have been relieved of his dread much sooner. “After everything, after all the, the negotiations and, and the taunting, and the _innuendos_ , after everything I went through, after _all of this_?” Guillermo was looking at Nandor with a strange intensity, as if he were solely responsible for the human's outrage and indignation. Perhaps it was understandable that a delicate and innocent human would be sore about being put through such an ordeal, but it was entirely unreasonable of him to direct that ire at Nandor. “That’s the _whole reason_ I even-” Guillermo cut himself off then, screwing shut his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose. “This is _not_ what’s supposed to happen,” he practically growled. 

“You are _welcome_ ,” Nandor replied in hopes of shaming his husband for his ingratitude, reaching to close the lid of his coffin. The human’s hand darted out, holding the lid aloft. Nandor attempted to continue his motion, but the hinges must have been stuck or something, because it was proving far more difficult than expected. Nandor could force it down, of course, but he did not want to risk shattering the human’s delicate bones in doing so.

“What, human? What do you want?” he snapped.

"I... need your help to get out of these," the human confessed reluctantly.

“Out of what?”

The human gestured vaguely to his torso and legs. “These breeches are really tight.”

Nandor grunted. Nandor did not need to be told that the breeches Guillermo was wearing were tight. Nandor had already been very, _very_ aware of the fact that the breeches were quite tight. So aware that he had been trying not to think of it all night.

“What? No. I will summon the familiar and-” Nandor considered the prospect of another person undressing his husband. “Actually, you shall do it yourself,” he revised.

"I just need your help with the laces. It will take like two seconds."

Nandor grumbled but acquiesced, waving his husband aside and descending from his coffin while Guillermo returned to his spot on the bed, removed the doublet jacket and the leather straps which suspended his breeches.

“What is required of me?” Nandor asked gruffly, pointedly looking away as the human began undoing the top button of his breeches. 

“I just need you to unlace the legs at the bottom,” the human muttered, lifting his leg out. Nandor crouched down beside the limb with some difficulty, eyeing the tassels at the hem of the breeches until he had worked out how they were constructed. He carefully plucked apart the knot securing the laces, easing the tension on the cords so that the fabric loosened. Guillermo stuck out his other leg, and Nandor set to work on that. His task completed, Nandor stood, caught between looking and non-looking as the human shucked off his breeches along with the tights beneath them, his tunic his only remaining garment.

Guillermo let out a sigh of relief at being freed from his tight clothing, rubbing at his legs to restore bloodflow. Nandor gave up on non-looking and stared blatantly at the pinkening limbs, the stripes up and down the sides of his legs where seams had pressed tightly and left reddened imprints. Nandor wanted to move his tongue over them, feel the malleability of human flesh in the variation of the surface. He could see thin pale scars which stretch like ripples over the human’s thighs and, very faintly, veins that thrummed with living virginal blood. He remembered the taste of it on his tongue-- hot and coppery and pure, sugar and cinnamon and songs of helpless longing, just as delicious as he looked and somehow even more. Nandor’s erection was straining against the weight of his maille tunic.

 _Disgusting things_ , Nandor thought desperately to himself, _think of disgusting things_. Human food. Putrefying corpses. That thing he walked in on Nadja doing to Laszlo under the staircase. He screwed his face tight in an effort to hide the hunger that must have blown wide his eyes, grit his teeth against the phantom aching of his fangs. The human noticed his gaze and folded his legs closer to his body, encircling them with his arms.

“You can do the rest by yourself, right?” Nandor asked with what he hoped was authority, though to his own ears his voice was on the edge of pleading.

“Yes. I can,” the human said, something flickering in his eyes that was pain and regret and humiliation and made Nandor feel like the ass of a donkey for his obvious lechery. 

“Good,” Nandor said, and with this turned and walked over to his coffin. “Do not disturb my slumber,” he added sharply, not at all trusting himself to maintain restraint in a half conscious state should he awake hungrily to the sight of his husband, the seductive warmth of his skin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am SO sorry but please take consolation in the knowledge that however frustrated you are right now, Guillermo is suffering ten thousand times worse.


	14. Breakfast

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Guillermo eats breakfast and obtains an ally.

The familiar standing in the doorway was staring at Guillermo with open pity. 

Guillermo probably looked like he could use it. He was a mess, hair disheveled and eyes bleary, and no doubt the other human saw this as proof that he spent the last night getting thoroughly deflowered by his husband, rather than tossing and turning in frustrated confusion because he _hadn't_ been. After Nandor had sealed himself into his coffin, Guillermo had been reduced to jerking off as quietly as he could manage and then staring at the ceiling and regretting most, if not all, of his life choices. He’d eventually fallen into a restless unconsciousness that barely passed as sleep. And now he was sitting up in bed in what he thought might be the very late afternoon-- the windows of Nandor’s crypt had been plastered over and so Guillermo could only guess at the exact time, but he assumed Nandor would have risen already if the sun had set.

“Mr. the Relentless?” the familiar in the doorway prompted in a high trembling voice, lifting the tray she carried. Guillermo recognized her from the reception the prior night-- the Empress had made a show of gifting her to his husband as a wedding present. He recalled the look of barely suppressed terror on her bleak face when she had looked at Nandor. “I was told to bring you food when you awoke.” 

“Oh,” Guillermo remarked, blinking. He was feeling hungry, now that she’d mentioned it. He’d been so anxious at the wedding reception he’d barely been able to force himself to eat. “Thanks, uh, what’s your name?”

“Jenna,” she answered, scurrying over and putting the tray over his lap. Guillermo squinted at the blurry and rather sparse repast before him. There was a cup of water and a bowl of what might have been oatmeal with a spoon in it. 

“Hi Jenna. You can call me Guillermo.” He groped around his bedside table for his glasses as he spoke. “Or Mr. de la Cruz. ‘the Relentless’ is a title, not a surname, so I…” he trailed off as he retrieved his spectacles and put them over his face, the world nearby coming into clarity. He stared at the substance in the bowl in front of him. "What... is this?" he asked, moving his spoon through the gloopy mush, which was far too gelatinous to be oatmeal. When he lifted a spoonful and tilted it, the oozing liquid that poured down was lumpy and almost stringy. 

"Food?" Jenna replied, nervous.

"This is what you guys eat?" Guillermo asked in disbelief. He lifted the bowl and sniffed at it. The smell wasn't repulsive, but it also wasn't appetizing-- sort of like wet paper with a hint of glue and mildew. Guillermo really didn't know what the hell it was even _supposed_ to be. 

" _This_ food is only for special occasions,” Jenna assured him, “normally we just eat bone meal gruel."

Guillermo thought for a moment about the prospect of spending the rest of his life not only separated from his home and family, not only _not_ getting railed by his hot vampire husband, but eating grey bone meal paste for every single meal.

"No, nope. No way. No," he concluded, putting the bowl down and pushing the tray to the side. "Show me the kitchen." 

"The, the kitchen?" Jenna asked, backing away as Guillermo, after taking a moment to tie his bedrobe securely around himself, tossed aside the quilt and slid to the side of the bed, putting his feet to the ground. "You shouldn't get up, you must be in pain. Please, if you want the bone meal gruel I can go make some,” Jenna pleaded. “I don’t want to trouble you, Mr. de la Cruz the Relentless.”

"I'm fine," Guillermo said. He was, in fact, in much less pain than he wanted to be. “And you aren’t troubling me, Jenna. I just want to see what I'm working with here."

He soon discovered that he wasn’t working with much.

The kitchen was roughly the size of a small closet. There were a grand total of two pots, three bowls, two cups, one large slotted ladle, one badly dulled paring knife, three forks, two spoons, and one mortar and pestle. There was a knee-high stove. The cupboard was sparsely stocked and contained various sacks of various grains, bottles of oil, and half rotten roots. The ‘special’ mush he had been served had been made from these miscellaneous grains and tubers, as well as ground bones (the origins of which were probably best left unidentified). Jenna explained timidly how the ingredients were boiled for several hours, then mushed into a paste, then boiled again, then kept over a low flame and consumed over the course of the week. 

With the pantry and utensils proving so profoundly inadequate, Guillermo did not have high hopes for the icebox, but was surprised to see some parcels of actual food among the stacked bottles of what was surely human blood. Inspecting them further, Guillermo concluded that they must have been leftovers from the wedding feast. He laughed quietly as his mind conjured the entirely plausible image of his amá slipping out of the reception in the early hours and breaking into Nandor’s icebox just to make sure Guillermo would have something familiar to eat for breakfast. His laughter petered out, his eyes blurred and burned with tears. He blinked hard and took a deep breath to recenter himself. After looking through his options he retrieved a package of tortillas wrapped in beeswax paper, a small basket of eggs, and a jar of salsa.

“Okay.” he said, closing the ice box and turning around to see Jenna watching him nervously. “I’m going to show you how to make chilaquiles.”

Half an hour later Guillermo handed a bowl to Jenna and then took one himself, picking up a fork and leaning against the wall. Jenna stared at the bowl in her hands in confusion.

“I... are you saying I can...?” her voice trailed off into nothingness.

“Yeah of course,” Guillermo assured her, “dig in.”

Jenna hesitated, watching Guillermo eat his first bite carefully before copying his motion. Her face lit with surprise and excitement as she chewed it.

“Oh wow,” she said in an awed voice. “Oh _wow_!” The other human began eating hastily, shoveling forkfuls into her mouth.

“You must be hungry,” Guillermo remarked. He could imagine-- if he had to eat paste for almost every meal he wouldn’t want much of it either. He frowned in confusion and mild alarm as he noticed tears trailing down her cheeks. “Are you, are you crying?” he asked.

Jenna nodded frantically.

“Its just,” she began, her voice muffled by the food she was still chewing, before swallowing and then veritably inhaling the next bite. “It’s so nice. Is this what human food is _like_? Is it all this _good_?”

“Well, I mean, chilaquiles are particularly good, but basically everything is better than whatever it was you served me for breakfast.“ 

Jenna opened her mouth and began to say something else, but suddenly her words trailed off, her face went pale, and she was barely able to turn away from her bowl before she vomited.

“Shit,” Guillermo muttered, putting his own bowl down before taking Jenna’s out of her hands and patting the familiar on the back. He felt immediately guilty-- he hadn't considered the effects of having a real, substantial meal on a stomach that was used to subsisting on gruel. Jenna muttered frantic apologies as he rubbed her back and assured her it was okay. Once she stopped heaving Guillermo gently urged her to go use the washroom and get a new shift. While she did that Guillermo did his best to clean up the mess-- he managed to locate the water pump room, which fortunately also stored cleaning supplies.

“Please… please don’t tell him you had to do that for me,” Jenna begged in a small voice once she’d slunk meekly back into the kitchen and discovered that he’d cleaned the floor himself.

“No, of course not,” Guillermo reassured her. He handed her a cup of water, which she took with shaking hands and sipped slowly.

“Have you really never had actual food before?” Guillermo asked. He’d assumed her haggard appearance had been a result of being used as a supplement to a dwindling blood supply, but he was beginning to suspect there was more to it than that.

Jenna shrugged lightly.

“I’m a hereditary familiar. I was born in Daptes. So were my parents, and my grandparents. I don't really know anything about human society stuff."

"The familiars that come from outside Daptes don't talk about it?" Guillermo asked.

Jenna shook her head.

"The only familiars in the capital these days are hereditary familiars. It used to be that outsider humans would show up to be familiars too, but I think they usually got eaten not very long after arriving. I don’t think they’ve been coming at all in the past few years,” Jenna reflected, turning the cup in her hands. “There’s not a lot of familiars left in general. My mom says it used to be very common for vampires to have their own familiars, but now it’s only a few who do.”

“Do they ever drink your blood?” Guillermo asked. It was a blunt question, and he suspected he already knew the answer, but he needed to confirm it.

“No, not really," Jenna answered, taking the question in stride. "Humans from outside of the Empire supposedly taste much better than we do. Apparently hereditary familiars are not very appetizing, which I guess is a good thing.” She laughed awkwardly.

 _Probably_ , Guillermo thought, looking aside at Jenna’s hollowed eyes and the gaunt hang of her flesh from the frame of her bones, _because you all have severe intergenerational malnutrition_.

“I see,” Guillermo said. “In that case, it looks like we should probably start out simpler when it comes to introducing you to real human food. Maybe some plain tortillas and avocado. Maybe horchata with just a bit of cinnamon.”

Jenna stared at Guillermo in surprise.

“Y- you’re going to make more?” she asked, as if Guillermo had offered to perform a miracle akin to the multiplication of the loaves and fish. “And, and I can have some?” she added in disbelief, “Even though I threw up?”

Guillermo nodded. Jenna promptly burst into tears.

Guillermo patted her shoulder awkwardly and resolved to be as nice as possible to Jenna.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel so bad for torturing Jenna this much please know she will be in a way better situation by the end of this story.


	15. Address

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which this is not, in fact, Guillermo's first rodeo.

Guillermo ended up making Jenna what might have been the saddest guacamole in history-- a quarter of an avocado smushed with a fork and sprinkled with as generous a portion of lime juice as he dared give her. Guillermo hadn’t interrogated Jenna much further about her diet, but he felt pretty confident in assuming she (and every other familiar in Daptes) probably had scurvy, and would do well to get some fresh fruit into them. He instructed Jenna to eat her sad guacamole slowly, and watched to make sure she did so. She started crying again, but she assured him it was out of happiness, and she didn't throw up after. He decided to count that as a victory. 

With a few minutes still to go until nightfall, he busied himself with checking in on the pair of messenger pigeons he’d brought with him from Trestait. The birds were currently occupying a large wicker cage in one of the house’s spare rooms. Guillermo changed the water in their bowl and left them a handful of grains before accompanying Jenna back to Nandor's crypt. 

Guillermo sat on the edge of the bed as Jenna tentatively knocked on the lid of the coffin, which promptly flew open, revealing a very poorly rested Nandor. The feathers that extended from his helmet seemed to have gotten caught in, and partially crushed by, the coffin lid. 

"Ack, finally!” the vampire exclaimed, fiddling with his helmet and not bothering to so much as glance in Jenna’s direction as he issued a command to her: “Familiar, you shall right away go to that table and-” as Nandor turned his head to point across the room his eyes fell on Guillermo and he abruptly closed his mouth. Guillermo waved. "What the shit are _you_ doing here?" Nandor asked.

"Greetings to you too, my darling husband," Guillermo replied dryly, wondering where the hell Nandor thought he was _supposed_ to be.

"Go away!" Nandor ordered. "This is vampire _only_ business."

“Vampire only? Alright.” Guillermo stood, beckoning to Jenna. “I suppose you’ll do whatever you need done yourself, then, without any help? Come on Jenna.”

“No, that’s not,” Nandor sputtered, glaring from Guillermo to Jenna and back. “Vampire and _familiar_ only business, I meant. _Obviously_. No humans. No humans that I am married to, that is. No husband humans,” Nandor insisted, “which are you.”

Guillermo was beginning to seriously suspect Nandor didn't even remember his name. He sighed, feeling very tired. "Fine. We’ll talk later, then."

Nandor made a displeased noise halfway between a growl and a grunt as Guillermo departed from his crypt.

Guillermo decided to take this opportunity to further explore the house. He tucked a stake into his robe, though he doubted he'd need it. Nandor hadn't mentioned any vampires who shared the house with him. That was fairly unusual for a vampire-- the species tended to cohabitate as a rule. In human territories this was often a necessity, but even within the uppermost echelons of Daptes they lived in interlinking apartments and shared communal spaces. Guillermo kind of wished Nandor lived with other vampires. If only because it would give him someone to talk to. 

Guillermo thought of visiting Nandor's neighbors-- but it would be awkward, not to mention a political nightmare, if he had to stake any of them. If they were as desperate for healthy human blood as he suspected, he might be forced to. Jenna’s testimony all but confirmed his theory that the capital was, at this point, entirely dependent on outside sources for blood. How long this had been the case was unclear, but he suspected the problem predated Jenna. Daptes was infamous for completely depopulating the settlements they conquered-- not just through wholesale slaughter (though there _was_ a great deal of wholesale slaughter), but by transporting the remaining survivors to the capital.

The numerous bottles of blood stored in the ice box, as well as the fact that Guillermo had so far seen vampires consuming blood only out of cups, suggested that they might be rationing-- trying to keep prisoners alive longer by harvesting smaller portions of blood repeatedly, rather than draining them all in one go.

Of course, Nandor _was_ known to be a picky eater. The bottles could be from particularly delectable victims, either intentionally preserved to savor later or simply left over when Nandor had taken his fill from the body. It was also possible that the vampires might have been abstaining from draining live victims in front of Guillermo out of courtesy (nevermind that Guillermo had seen the messy process and aftermath of vampire feeding enough times to have developed a fairly strong stomach).

But then again, there was the way Nandor had reacted to his blood at the ceremony.

Guillermo had known, or at least assumed, that his blood was considered quite appetizing by most vampires. Especially having been-- _being_ , he corrected himself bitterly-- a virgin. But Nandor had a refined palate. He was rich and powerful enough that, should the blood supply in Daptes have been anywhere near sufficient to support the populace, he should have been able to cater to his appetites regularly. Especially given he had the authority to take first pick of available victims when he and his soldiers conquered a settlement. Even if Guillermo’s blood _was_ particularly delicious, Nandor should be _used_ to drinking particularly delicious blood. So for him to go into a frenzy of that sort… 

Guillermo’s stomach did a complicated sort of flip at the memories this brought up. 

He was such an absolute fool. Nandor had made it explicitly, _repeatedly_ clear that he wasn't attracted to Guillermo, and yet the way the vampire had kissed him had made this idea seem suddenly plausible. There had been such passion and such force to it, those arms like steel bands around him pressing their bodies together, the taste of blood and wine upon their mingled lips. (Simon had been wrong. Guillermo had been kissed several times before-- so he well knew Nandor was _good_ at it.) The hunger he’d seen in Nandor's eyes, the all devouring desire that burned in his gaze when they split apart, the slight trembling of his hand as he took Guillermo’s arm.

It had given Guillermo hope. Hope, and a little bit of an erection.

Two things which died down rapidly when Nandor proceeded to treat him like an unwanted rash for the remainder of the evening. Nandor telling him in no uncertain terms that he’d never even _considered_ bedding Guillermo was something he really, _really_ should have seen coming. Yet somehow, despite everything, he hadn’t. Guillermo still didn't understand why Nandor had kissed him like that, had demanded they retire early and frogmarched him up to his crypt so covetously, if this was the case. Perhaps it was all a show-- the power play of forcing a human to wed Nandor wasn't exactly as impactful if it was obvious Nandor didn't even want said human, was it? Perhaps the remaining haze of bloodlust had made Nandor briefly forget the contempt and disgust with which he regarded Guillermo in his lucid moments.

There were a lot of portraits of Nandor on the walls, Guillermo noted as he continued down the hall. Well, when you were passionately in love with yourself and could no longer stare at your reflection for hours at a time, Guillermo supposed, this was how you made do. He paused in front of a particularly ornate example, in which Nandor wore a golden brocade robe and his beard was rather longer than it currently was. It was beautifully rendered in most aspects, but Guillermo thought that there was something about his eyes that the portrait hadn’t quite captured, and he leaned closer to scrutinize the canvas.

“So, you’re Nandor’s new hubby, huh?” 

Guillermo swore, spinning around and reaching for his stake before he’d even registered that the remark had come from a pink-faced man with spectacles standing a few paces behind him. He was wearing tan hose with soles and a nondescript dun-colored doublet. His skin and his clothing and the very way he held himself lent the man an overwhelmingly _beige_ presence, and his nebbish smile was unfanged. Energy vampire, then. _But what the hell is he doing here?_

“...Guillermo de la Cruz,” Guillermo introduced himself cautiously, tilting his head.

“Colin Robinson,” the man replied with a widening grin, pointing to himself. “I’m the roomie.”

“The roomie,” Guillermo echoed, more out of exasperation than lack of understanding. It wasn’t hard to figure out what he meant. 

“Me and Nandor share the house,” Colin Robinson explained anyway, adjusting his spectacles. “I’ve got a neat little lair in the undercroft, if you’d ever like to pay a visit. It’s pretty damp.” He appeared to be bragging about that last detail. 

“Ah,” Guillermo said. Of course. Of course Nandor hadn’t even bothered to tell him about the _energy vampire_ living _underneath their house._

“Mr. Relentless Warrior there didn’t mention me, huh?" Colin Robinson asked, the faintest glimmer of disappointment marring his chipper affect.

"He mentioned your name,” Guillermo lied, deciding that he might as well use this to his advantage, “just not that you lived together."

“Well, that part _is_ pretty new, I guess. I moved in while he was stomping around the continent on his last big campaign.”

Guillermo hummed in response and let an awkward silence settle, like a trail of bait leading into a hidden snare. He cleared his throat in what passed as a nervous gesture. 

“So… Nandor said you know a lot about Dapte’s... infrastructure?” he ventured, as if he could think of no other topic with which to continue the conversation. He was taking a shot in the dark, albeit into what was essentially a barrel of fish. Energy vampires usually cultivated detailed knowledge of any topic that struck the average person as incredibly boring, so he’d be pretty surprised if Colin Robinson didn’t have an extensive lecture about infrastructure in his back pocket. 

Colin Robinson held no such surprises for Guillermo, immediately coming through with a droning diatribe on this very subject. Guillermo listened patiently through his overview of waterworks, roadways, trade and transportation of goods, nodding occasionally but not often enough to appear interested. The moment Colin Robinson mentioned blood supply management Guillermo affected a queasy grimace and let out a faint, strangled noise of distress, which of course goaded the energy vampire to immediately delve deeper into that particular topic, to Guillermo’s increasing feigned discomfort.

Colin Robinson started to get wise to his plan around an hour into their conversation-- or at least Guillermo assumed he did, since he abruptly switched focus from blood supply to sanitation and his eyes flashed momentarily when Guillermo slipped up and got annoyed by this. He had probably realized the energy he was leeching from the human didn’t match the payoff he was expecting.

Still, Guillermo had gotten valuable information-- and also kind of tricked Colin Robinson out of a meal-- so he allowed the energy vampire to drone on for a quarter hour more before he started feeling a bit tired and decided to cut him off.

“I have to go now. Goodbye,” he bid Colin Robinson, and promptly and briskly walked away. This was very rude (if he hadn’t known that already, Colin Robinson had pointed it out in a sulking tone behind his back), but sticking to rituals of politeness and social protocol gave energy vampires too much of an advantage. Guillermo didn’t plan to give Colin Robinson any inroads to keep draining him. He had a lot to think about.


	16. Detangling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Nandor finally makes headway in getting his hair in order.

Repairing the indignity of his hairs had so far proven much more difficult than Nandor had expected. 

Nandor often forgot to perform certain grooming rituals when left to his own devices. As such, the care of Nandor’s hair had always been a matter overseen by personal servants-- familiars, when he’d had them, and squires while on campaign. As familiars were currently at scarcity and squires occupied elsewhere, his hairs had become hopelessly tangled since his triumphant return from his last invasion. He had tried to fix his hairs before the wedding rehearsal. He had tried _very_ hard, in fact. Hard enough to have broken the teeth out of some of Guillermo’s combs, which made him feel displeased when he thought about it. He’d gotten so caught up in the frustrating task that by the time he’d thought to check the time he’d been already very late and thus forced to give up and to make hasty work of a meal. 

He’d expected that his problem would be remedied quickly by the familiar the Empress had supplied, but so far Nandor had found the human Jenna to be useless at best and a nuisance at worst. 

She had utterly failed to repair his hairs the nightfall after his wedding night, as well as the following nightfall, forcing him to spend all of the following nights and days in a helmet (he chose one without feathers this time, so that they did not become damaged by his coffin). He had avoided Guillermo as much as possible so as not to raise suspicion due to excessive helmet-wearing. This nightfall he had firmly banished Guillermo from his crypt and ordered the familiar to try her hand at the task once more, but this third attempt was not shaping up promisingly. Every time Nandor snapped at her, or simply let out a growl of irritation as she made a mess of the process, she would flinch dramatically and offer a thousand useless apologies. Nandor was pretty sure she was close to tears at this point-- she kept sniffling distractingly. Nandor dreaded to have her human facial juices spray upon his hair.

Nandor thought about killing the familiar. Alas, she was a gift from the Empress, and if her Unholiness visited she might ask after the human, and if Nandor said he had slaughtered the mortal she would think him ungrateful. She wouldn't even make a good meal. Her blood would be tasteless-- she had that sad bland smell that all the familiars seemed to emit these days, a scent which forecast blood that would be sludgy and unsatisfying. Worse, killing her would not render combed his hairs. It might mat them together _worse_ , should her viscera end up somewhere in his mane.

Of course, he reflected, keeping her alive was not doing much for his hairs either. 

Guillermo opened the door and walked into his crypt, jarring Nandor out of his thoughts and into a panic. He cringed and let out a noise which was far less dignified than he would have liked it to be, before clearing his throat and fixing his face.

“What are you doing here?” Nandor demanded.

"I can hear you yelping from the library," Guillermo said. His face showed confusion and concern, rather than the distain Nandor would have expected at this evidence of his dishevelment, which was very strange and rendered the vampire only more uneasy.

"You could not possibly," Nandor said, putting discomfort aside to address the mortal’s bold lie. "Your ears are too weakly. You must have been snooping about, _naughty_ human!" he remonstrated. Guillermo remained uncowed, though he did flush ever so slightly before looking to the familiar behind Nandor and then back. 

"Why are you terrorizing poor Jenna?" Guillermo asked, as if Nandor was a bratty child bothering an old dog. Nandor bristled.

" _She_ is terrorizing _me_ ," he asserted, before realizing his mistake in implying that a whimpering human could frighten a powerful and awesome vampire such as he. _Damnation_.

"I'm sorry Master, I'm trying, I'm trying," Jenna blubbered, making matters worse. Nandor turned and hissed at her sharply in effort to silence her, but she refused to compose herself and rather became more hysterical. Nandor scowled. Now she was making him look _mean_. This was a mess. Perhaps he could hypnotize Guillermo to forget all of this business? No, he could not. _Not_ because he was bad at hypnosis, of course. He was fine at hypnosis. But Laszlo had all but literally hammered into his brain that trying such a thing could ruin everything the Empress was getting at with this alliance thing.

"You know what? I'm going to step in here," Guillermo said, rudely interrupting Nandor’s thoughts and then even more rudely approaching him when Nandor had invited him to do no such thing.

"Y- you don't have t- to," the human Jenna stammered.

"No, I'll do it," Guillermo insisted, gently taking the comb from her hand. "I actually have a lot of experience-- years of helping my sisters and cousins with their hair. Could you bring up the bottle of olive oil from the kitchen?"

"Yes sir," she said, bowing and then making herself scarce.

Guillermo took the familiar’s place behind Nandor’s chair. Nandor did not like having the human behind him, where he could not see the faces he was making or what he was doing. Nandor growled quietly to mark his disapproval, but Guillermo showed no response, at least none the vampire could detect. He could feel the tug of his hair being picked at by fingers, hear Guillermo muttering to himself in his human language.

"Did you try to fix this yourself?" Guillermo asked.

Nandor thought in his head of how he had tried and failed. "Such tasks are beneath me," Nandor said out loud, adding an imperious sniff to emphasize how _lowly_ such a chore was regarded by a powerful vampire such as himself.

"Maybe that's for a good reason,” the human snorted, “since it looks like you tried to comb it out from the top."

"That is how hairs are combed!" Nandor snapped.

"Not when it's like this," Guillermo said. "When hair is this tangled brushing from the roots just pulls the knots tighter. You need to start from the ends, gently.” Nandor saw the crypt door open from the side of his vision, heard footsteps approach. “And- ah, thanks Jenna.”

“Fetch me a mirror, familiar,” Nandor ordered before the mortal could flee.

“You won’t be able to see yourself,” Guillermo pointed out

“But I will be able to monitor _you_ ,” Nandor counter-pointed out, “so you cannot try any _tricks_.”

“Do you even own a mirror?” Guillermo asked.

That gave Nandor pause. _Did_ he own a mirror? He might perhaps own a very shiny shield, but he did not trust his flimsy familiar to handle it.

“You can get my mirror out, Jenna, it’s just in the drawer under the armoire,” Guillermo instructed. Nandor experienced a strange displeasure at his husband so affably speaking with his familiar. Then he felt something a little bit cold and a little bit wet pour upon his scalp. He hunched his shoulders and hissed uneasily. “I’m just putting the oil in your hair,” Guillermo explained. “It’ll make it easier to untangle.” 

The familiar Jenna returned to his side with the hand mirror, which Nandor snatched from her, but then he forgot to actually look into it because then Guillermo was _touching_ him. Guillermo was carding his fingers across the crown of Nandor’s head, blunt nails scraping against his scalp in a way that made his skin feel tingly and tight and _very_ nice. The vampire hummed softly and tilted his head back, closed his eyes and savored the sensation. When the human moved his hands to a more distal sector of his hairs Nandor had to clench his jaw very tightly to stifle a whimper of disappointment. 

“I was surprised you had such a decent supply of olive oil in your pantry,” Guillermo remarked. That was because the olive oil was for sexual lubrication. Nandor thought about telling the human that the olive oil was for sexual lubrication. Nandor did not tell the human that the olive oil was for sexual lubrication. “Speaking of, we need to talk about the kitchen.”

“Kitten?” Nandor echoed in confusion. “Where did you find a kitten? It is not going to get along with your little birdy,” he forewarned.

“Not kitten, kit-chen,” Guillermo said, which was to Nandor meaningless. “The place where human food is made,” he elaborated.

“Oh, that,” Nandor grimaced at the mere thought of human sustenance, waved his hand in magnanimous dismissal. “You are welcome, mortal.”

“I’m... welcome to what?” Guillermo asked. Nandor slit open one eye, looking up at the human’s puzzled face. He tried to remind himself that his human was _pretty_ , not smart. 

“You are welcome for that there is a human food making room,” Nandor slowly explained.

“Well, it actually sucks,” Guillermo said bluntly.

Nandor felt a pang of embarrassment which he pushed aside roughly. Nandor had ensured the food making room was _perfectly_ adequate! Guillermo was just fussing, and if Nandor did not nip these fantastical entitlements of his in the bud the human would blossom into a flower of complaining all of the time. He opened both eyes so that Guillermo could see him roll them, affected a lilting aristocratic voice: “Your royal majesty, I am so very sorry the vampire city is not full of putrid human slop.” 

Guillermo, to Nandor’s surprise, snickered at his japeing. The mortal smiled down at him, his eyes crinkling at the edges and the sides of his mouth turning up and his cheeks dimpling, and everything about him _beautiful_. 

Looking directly at his husband was not a good idea, Nandor decided, yanking his head back upright and then lifting the mirror from his lap. The reflection revealed Guillermo, sleeves of his tunic rolled up, hands slick, as he spread the oil over Nandor’s invisible hair, occasionally adding another dollop and working it into what must have constituted a particularly problematic tangle. Nandor watched the motions only in order to learn to fix such a mess himself, and not at all in fascination with the focus and patience with which Guillermo worked. 

“The thing is,” Guillermo said, “‘vampire city’ has more than enough putrid human slop at the moment. What’s lacking is non-putrid human _food_.”

“There is no such thing,” Nandor proclaimed. “There is no such difference.”

“Not to vampires, maybe, but there’s definitely a difference to humans. An important difference.” Guillermo put the oil aside, pieced Nandor’s hairs apart into sections, and began working on the rearmost section.

“So why should that concern me, a _vampire_?” Nandor asked. Guillermo sighed loudly.

“Well, I don’t know, maybe because it concerns _me_?” the human suggested, pointing to his face and giving a very sarcastic look into the mirror. “You know, your human husband? The one who eats human food? The one you have to keep alive? And ideally something even vaguely _resembling_ happy?” 

“The extant slop is more than adequate for the needs of the familiars,” Nandor pointed out.

“No, it really isn’t,” Guillermo said in a flat voice, glaring now. Then he sighed again, this time softly, and started to pick dead hairs from the teeth of the comb he’d taken from Jenna. “But lets be real, of course you don’t care about that stuff,” he muttered, “maybe you think I’d look better if I were half-starved to death.”

“You would not,” Nandor protested. He did _not_ like this thought, this idea of a bony little Guillermo. He would not be nearly so soft, nor so solid and weighty, nor so sensually appealing. And there would be _less_ of him. Distress and pride warred within Nandor, one side compelling him to appease the human so that he would stop looking so _sad_ , the other insisting he retain his cold indifference rather than allow the human to think him manipulable. He cursed himself, he cursed the human, and at last he spoke. 

“But I suppose that I might humor you. What _precisely_ convinces you the extant slop is flawed?”


	17. Unraveling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Nandor and Guillermo continue their discussion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter features probably the worst joke I have ever made.

“Human health starts with what we eat,” Guillermo lectured as he worked first his fingers, then a comb with widely spaced teeth, through what Nandor guessed to be the very ends of his hairs, moving gradually upwards only once the comb was able to pass through the lower section smoothly and without impediment. “We need to eat all sorts of things to get everything our bodies need to work properly. Two slightly different varieties of slop are not going to cut it. Even if the slop _was_ nutritionally complete, its _depressing_ to eat something so bland every day. Humans like a little variety in our lives, you know. We like to be able to _taste_ things.”

“What is your evidence of this?” Nandor asked, narrowing his eyes at the human’s reflection.

“Well, for one, living off slop is the reason all the familiars in Daptes are inedible.”

“Of course they are inedible to _you_ , you are human.” Nandor pointed out.

“But they’re inedible to vampires too, aren’t they?” Guillermo pressed. “I mean, why do you _think_ the hereditary familiars all taste awful?”

Nandor frowned, contemplating this for a moment before hitting upon the answer.

“Because all familiars are simps, and when two simps reproduce they make only more simps,” he explained confidently, pleased to have so quickly put a resolution to this matter.

“N- wait,” Guillermo’s face took on an expression of confusion. “‘Simps’? What are ‘simps’?”

“It is a new word which Simon the Devious invented. It is short for simpleton,” Nandor explained. He was rather pleased that he had puzzled this out entirely on his own after witnessing Simon state repeatedly that Viago was becoming a ‘simp’ for some young 90-something vampire named Katherine.

“Seems kind of redundant,” Guillermo remarked, clearly not impressed.

“It is not redundant. It was very badly needed,” Nandor insisted-- though in truth Nandor was himself not a great fan of new words, nor of Simon the Devious. Still, it was not _Guillermo’s_ place to criticize vampires.

“ _How_?” Guillermo asked. 

“For very important vampire reasons which _you,_ a human simp, would not understand,” Nandor decreed. “Ow!” he yelped a moment later as he felt a sharp tug. “ _Ow_ ,” he repeated, when Guillermo did not respond with the appropriate apology but continued combing.

“Sorry,” Guillermo said, not sounding at all sorry about his error. ”The reason the hereditary familiars taste bad is because they’re malnourished, Nandor. They’re _sick_. Sick and miserable. Like, even more miserable than the _average_ familiar.” 

Nandor grunted skeptically at this assertion. 

“Alright, lets try a different way then,” Guillermo muttered, turning his attention to the mess of his half disassembled topknot, or so Nandor guessed judging by the tugs at Nandor’s scalp and what he could extrapolate from the mirror. The mortal for a moment was entirely focused in his work, the very tip of his tongue appearing from between his lips as he worked his fingers through this particularly stubborn section before continuing his questioning. “What sort of slop do you feed your horses?”

“I do not feed my horses _slop_ ,” Nandor protested, affronted to have such an accusation lobbed at him.

“Then what _do_ you feed them?” Guillermo asked.

Nandor rolled his eyes. He could hardly believe that this human was so pampered and sheltered as to not know what sorts of things a horse ate, but he decided that he would take pity and answer his query.

“Well first, _obviously_ ,” he began, laying the mirror down in his lap and then folding over the pinky of one hand with the fingers of the other to signify a first count, “they must have the meadow for grazing the greeny grass which they like, and it must not have any bad plants upon it that could make them ill. But they must also have a supply of hay,” he noted, folding the next finger down, “and it must be _good_ hay and not too different between the batches, and it must be kept dry and clean, or it will upset their stomachs. And they also eat the barley grains,” a third finger folded, “and sometimes the oats, and of these they eat especially much if they are the sorts of big boys who must carry heavy things and do much runnings about, like the coursers or the rounceys. I have mixed into this also whenever possible the anise or the oil of it,” a fourth count. “They like anise, which is good for preventing the stomach upsets, especially the aniseed. These are the things they will eat day to day, but they also like sometimes to have a nice thing for eating to have as a snack.” He released his count and gestured vaguely through the air to convey the variety of possible options. “They eat apples for a treat, and berries and almonds. There is also a liking of minty plants, especially the peppermint leaves. Most of them like a little cumin seeds, but not all. Rouzbeh does not like these at all, but he is a palfrey so of course he is quite picky. Sometimes he will not eat his fodder at all unless there is a little mashed apple mixed into it.” Nandor realized then that he was beginning to ramble on. He cleared his throat and pretended to pick something from his fingernails with an air of indifference. “Does this resolve your ignorance, human?” he asked.

“I wasn’t asking out of ignorance so much as trying to make a point,” Guillermo claimed. “That point being that, as your _husband_ , I think I deserve to eat roughly as well as your horses do.”

“You wish to eat hay?” Nandor asked. He had not even thought to put hay into the human food area, as he had not recalled it as being a human food.

“No, that’s not- I’m telling you that- I’m _pointing out_ that you understand that non-vampires need different kinds of food, and that they like nice tasting foods, when those non-vampires are horses. I’m reminding you that these things apply to humans too. I’m not asking for much here, Nandor. I am asking for _horse-standard_ treatment,” Guillermo said. 

Nandor frowned. If Guillermo expected Nandor to braid ribbons into his hairs and feed him berries out of his mouth and talk to him about sadness feelings, he would just have to be dissapointed. A small part of Nandor thought that some of those things actually sounded rather nice, but that did not matter, as they were things that simply could not happen.

“And where do you suppose I will acquire this... human fodder, for you?” Nandor asked.

“Hopefully I‘ll eventually be able to acquire my own human fodder. In the short term I’ll probably use the same sources you use to get your horse fodder-- necromancers, witches, the occasional troll-- the typical backchannels Daptes uses for acquiring human goods. Of course, such sources tend to be expensive, unreliable, and-- based on the contents of your pantry-- not prone to delivering high quality goods, so I’m looking into alternative shipping options too. Sadly none of the human merchants my family have connections with will deliver to Daptes since, you know, you guys kept eating them when they showed up and then skipping out on the bill.”

Nandor lifted the hand mirror from his lap and squinted into it, eyeing the human’s reflection with suspicion.

“How is it that you know these things, human?” he asked.

“Some details are just common knowledge. The rest I was able to put together thanks to Colin Robinson, who I met yesterday.”

“Eugh,” Nandor replied, for this, he felt, was the best noise with which to respond to the notion of Colin Robinson.

“That was a fun little surprise, by the way,” Guillermo said, though he was not sounding as if he’d found it as fun as he claimed. “Were you ever planning on telling me that you had a roommate?”

“He is not a roommate, he is a _squatter_ ,” Nandor protested. “I will have him tossed out eventually. I have merely been busy with other matters.”

“Yeah, well, just to check-- is there anyone _else_ living here I don't know about? Besides you, me, Colin Robinson, and Jenna?”

“Jenna does not count. And neither does Colin Robinson, because he is squatting, as I said. And soon he will be gone. And you should _not_ have been talking to him, also. What did you even discuss?”

“I asked him about Daptes’ infrastructure.”

"Why did you do _that_?" Nandor asked. "He was _eating_ of you, you know!"

"I know.” Guillermo shrugged as if this were a minor detail. “I probably wasn't very filling, since I was actually interested in most of it."

Nandor bristled. He did _not_ like his human being so casual about allowing other vampires to feed from him. Having evicted the two perverts, he’d thought Guillermo would be safe so long as he stayed within the walls of Nandor’s home-- but he had forgotten, in all the wedding excitement and terror, about Colin Robinson. "That was foolish of you,” he scolded.

“I can handle myself, Nandor,” Guillermo scoffed, as if he were some sort of _strong guy expert vampire slayer_ or something. “I took a calculated risk and it paid off.”

“...I still do not understand why it is you are being so insistent upon this food business, mortal,” Nandor grumbled.

“For very important human reasons which _you_ , a vampire simp, would not understand,” Guillermo said in a bizarre affected accent which Nandor shortly realized was supposed to be his. He spun around to glare at Guillermo, wincing as the motion tugged his hair from the human’s hands.

“What? No. That does not work like that,” Nandor protested. “You cannot turn it around upon me. Human reasons are _not_ important and I would understand them _fine_.”

“Great! Then you’ll help me do what needs to be done so this household can support human life?” Guillermo asked chipperly. When Nandor only grimaced in response, the human sighed. “Can you at least say you’ll _think_ about it?” he pleaded, the sad look returning to his eyes.

“I will... think about it,” Nandor agreed, turning back around. Making such a concession felt like cracking open his ribcage, so before he could suffer further injury he continued, “starting now, if you will be quiet enough.” 

The human seemed to accept this condition, as he ceased chattering as he ran the comb through Nandor’s hairs. He used a much gentler touch than Nandor had, occasional tugging of knots notwithstanding. When the human ran his fingers through a section he’d completed the weight and pull and motion of it was very nice. When he released a newly repaired tendril it fell to the back of Nandor’s neck, curling and sleek and every so slightly warm. Nandor could hardly imagine performing such intricate, monotonous work himself. He would get sick of it before long. He should be sick even just of watching Guillermo’s reflection. Yet somehow he remained transfixed.

"Alright, you're done," Guillermo declared at last. 

"It is done?" Nandor asked in disbelief, reaching upwards to check. His hairs, when he touched them, were no longer tangled. His fingers moved through them easily, slick as they were with olive oil. "It is all greasy now," he noted, wrinkling his nose at the sheen left on his fingertips.

"You're welcome," Guillermo muttered behind him.

"I do not want for it to be greasy,” Nandor noted. “I am not thanking you for that."

"You're welcome for saving you from having to wear a helmet for the rest of your life," his husband said, making a very sarcastic face into the mirror. Nandor dropped the implement into his lap so as to disarm the human.

"I did not ask you to do this. You insisted," Nandor pointed out. "Nevertheless, I... appreciate your labor," he conceded generously.

"Thank you," Guillermo replied, carding his own fingers through Nandor's hairs. The scrape of nails against Nandor’s scalp was even nicer this time, it made him feel something prickly in his neck and all down his spine. He shivered with it, leaning his head back, closing his eyes for a flickering moment. But then he remembered himself, straightened his neck and stood from his chair.

"I can wash this out now, correct?" he asked.

"Yes,” Guillermo replied softly, “that should be fine."


	18. Security

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Guillermo reflects and comes up against an unexpected obstacle.

A few days after Guillermo successfully detangled Nandor's hair there came a night when the moon was nearly full, the skies cloudless and the wind mild, and on this night Guillermo decided to explore the grounds of his new home. He slid a stave of twine-wrapped graphite between the pages of his girdle book-- which he buckled closed and tucked into his belt-- and then retrieved his crucifix necklace and several stakes from a chest at the bottom of his armoire.

As Guillermo tucked the necklace under the collar of his tunic and the stakes elsewhere on his person, he reflected that if the appalling state of human nutrition in Daptes had one upside, it was that it had _finally_ given him something to _do_.

Guillermo didn’t like sitting around idly all day, and he got bored pretty quickly of menial busywork, but in the months following the signing of his marriage contract he’d had little else to fill his time. Doug Peterson and Queen Lazarro had decided that Guillermo’s political usefulness as Nandor’s betrothed trumped his practical usefulness as a slayer, and he’d been taken off active duty. No responding to emergencies, no patrolling, no investigating alleged sightings, nothing which risked even _potential_ contact with any vampires (outside, of course, of his trip to Daptes for the gift exchange and the rehearsal). Guillermo still felt this had been going way overboard. Being a slayer was a dangerous job, certainly, but he had been doing it successfully for close to a decade and a half now. Being betrothed to Nandor hadn’t made him any less capable of holding his own against other creatures of the night. He’d tried to convince her Majesty’s court to reconsider, to contemplate instead merely scaling back his hours or taking him off the most dangerous routes, without success. His duties had been delegated to other members of his family, and he had been stuck cloistered in the compound like a nun.

It never took him more than a couple hours to complete what few daily academic duties he had, leaving him with plenty of time to kill and badly in need of a distraction from picking apart every detail of his single interaction with his betrothed. He had spent a lot of the earlier weeks baking, sketching, revisiting monographs he hadn’t read in a while, helping around the compound and entertaining his younger cousins. But there were only so many times he could reread treatises and make bread and fold laundry and render landscapes and pick weeds and play pretend with dolls before that too became unbearably monotonous. Especially as none of those activities were anywhere near as invigorating as a good hunt or exhibition fight could be. 

Visiting Daptes’ capital had provided temporary stimulation, but also a great deal of frustration. When he’d returned home afterwards he had spent a lot of time practicing destreza-- venting his boredom and irritation by running drills and dueling for hours despite knowing he’d have little, if any, chance to put the skills he was honing to actual use. His appetite for sparring had been so voracious that his siblings and cousins had created an elaborate schedule and chore bartering system to determine which of them would be on call, on any given day, to spar with him when he started wandering the compound and asking around for a partner. (He’d discovered this arrangement only after the fact, and been rather mortified to realize how demanding he’d been. He’d told Xiomara, the apparent mastermind, that they should have just told him they were tired and to stop pestering them. She had snorted and waved this notion away as if it were farcical. «It’s what you needed, Memo» she’d said, lobbing a salted plum at his head when he’d tried to argue with her.)

The point being, Guillermo had been restless, tense, and eager for a challenge for a very long time.

These projects-- determining ways for Daptes to establish reliable trade with vendors of human goods and instituting a system of agriculture from the ground up which could feasibly be expanded to feed a vampire nation’s worth of human prey, would certainly be a challenge. And, Guillermo thought as he stopped in front of the door to Nandor’s study, if he played it right he might be able to use them as a vehicle to advance the third, much more frustrating, project he’d recently taken on: getting his husband to acknowledge his existence.

His first knock garnered no response, but Guillermo was fairly certain the vampire was inside-- he could see the flickering glow of candlelight creeping out from under the door-- so he knocked again, this time hailing Nandor by name. Still no response.

“Alright then,” he called out, “I just wanted to let you know that I’m going outside to walk the grounds. Bye.” He heard a noise that sounded like a bunch of scrolls being rattled around in a birdcage, then a noise like a chair being knocked over, and then the door to the study was ripped open, exposing a scowling Nandor. _God he’s so tall_ , Guillermo thought. As the vampire loomed over Guillermo his hair fell in subtly twisting locks, which framed his sharp and handsome features like a curtain of maille around a battle mask. Guillermo pushed aside an unwanted pang of desire, tilted his head back to meet his husband’s gaze and raised an eyebrow. “Yes?” 

“You cannot do that. I will not allow it. You must remain _here_ ,” Nandor insisted, pointing to the floor at his feet. “It is unsafe outside. What if someone attempts to make a snack of you?”

Guillermo shrugged nonchalantly. “Then I’ll stop them. If you don’t trust that I can do that, you’re welcome to keep me company, but I’m going out whether you allow it or not.”

“No,” the vampire said darkly, eyes narrowing, “you are _not_.” For a split second there was a tension in the air, as if Nandor might actually try to _physically_ stop him, and Guillermo reached for the chain of his necklace under the guise of adjusting his tunic collar. But then the vampire seemed to conclude something, or perhaps remember something, because his face cleared and he straightened his spine before retreating back into his study, closing the door without a further word.

Guillermo frowned at the door. _Huh_. He had assumed that would be an ironclad way to persuade his husband to spend some time with him, given Nandor seemed convinced that Guillermo was incapable of handling himself, but apparently not. 

Nandor had been avoiding Guillermo slightly less in the nights that followed him untangling the vampire’s hair. He was still holing himself up in his study most of the time, but when he arose from his coffin at nightfall he was tolerating Guillermo’s presence in the crypt for almost a quarter hour before he started insisting he leave, and he wasn’t turning into a bat and flying away _every_ time he came into a room and found Guillermo there. Guillermo had taken this as a promising sign that spending quality time together could be a way to ease Nandor into the reality that Guillermo was, in fact, living in the same house as him. He knew Nandor was not going to make this easy-- the hair brushing incident had only happened because he’d unwittingly caught Nandor in a moment of vulnerability (and then not so unwittingly pounced on the opportunity). Guillermo had been looking for a similar opportunity to back him into a corner ever since, but apparently avoiding him ranked higher on Nandor’s priority list than ensuring he lived, which was not exactly encouraging. 

In any case, Guillermo _was_ capable of providing his own protection, and he still needed to look around outside, so he shrugged and left Nandor to whatever it was he did all night.

He made his way to the rear exit of the house, as it provided the best access to the expansive grounds behind it. The thumb latch lock flipped easily, but when he turned the knob he found the door stuck solidly closed. Guillermo furrowed his brow and jiggled the handle a bit, but made no progress. Perhaps the door had been left unlocked, and he’d locked it unknowingly. He turned the latch to the opposite position and tried again, but this time the knob turned only slightly before sticking in place and refusing to budge. He retrieved a candle from the wall, using its light to more carefully inspect the door. He found a keyhole hidden behind a cover under the knob. He sighed. Jenna would probably have the key, but he didn’t want to bother her, so he returned the candle to the wall and walked back up several hallways until he came to the front entrance of the house.

Again he flipped the tab lock and tried the handle, and when that failed to work he returned the tab to its original position and tried again. He felt under the knob and found another covered keyhole. The wood around it was slightly roughened, dry to the touch rather than waxy with age and varnish, as if it had been installed recently, and suddenly it struck him. The doors had been modified to lock from the _outside_. Guillermo closed his eyes and sighed through his nose. 

“Tell me he _didn’t-_ ” he groaned under his breath, to himself or perhaps to any passing envoys of God, before turning away from the door and taking a portable oil lamp from a nearby table. There were four exits to the house, and he checked the remaining two just to confirm that they, too, were locked from the outside. He systematically checked the windows as well, though he wasn’t all that optimistic about their potential as feasible exits. Every window in the house was latticework, and even the largest apertures of the intricate geometric designs that composed them were barely big enough for a crow to squeeze through. As he’d remembered, most of them were carved from stone and fixed within the wall, but there was one with a hinged metal screen which opened. _Used_ to open, at least, before it had been fixed in place-- recently, judging by the freshness of the plaster around the frame compared to the rest of the wall. “Are you fucking _kidding_ me?” Guillermo muttered under his breath. 

He went to find Jenna in defiance of the nagging voice in his head telling him he already knew exactly what was going on here, and that it meant Jenna definitely wouldn’t have the keys. He discovered the other human dusting in the library, and she almost jumped out of her skin when he cleared his throat.

“Sorry!” he said, raising his hands in supplication, “didn’t mean to scare you.”

“N- no, it’s fine, I just thought you were…” Jenna trailed off, as if speaking Nandor’s name had the potential to summon him. (As far as Guillermo could tell Nandor mostly preferred to ignore Jenna’s existence, but it was obvious that this indifference had done little to relieve her dread of the vampire.)

“It’s just me, Jenna,” Guillermo reassured her. “I just wanted to know if you have the keys.”

“Keys?” Jenna echoed.

“You know, to the doors? The entrances to the house?” he prompted gently.

“Oh, no no,” Jenna answered, shaking her head, “Master keeps those.”

Guillermo screwed his eyes tightly closed and rubbed at his temple with the fingertips of his free hand.

“Right,” he said. “Thanks Jenna.”

Guillermo returned the oil lamp to its table by the front entrance and walked back up the stairs to Nandor’s study-- quiet, unhurried, and utterly enraged.


	19. Fable

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Guillermo tells a story.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warning for (theoretical) graphic violence. Skip the paragraph that starts “What could I do about it?” to avoid it, its basically just Guillermo imagining messy ways to murder Nandor.

Guillermo struck his fist sharply, and with no small amount of force, against the door to Nandor’s study. When the vampire failed to respond he knocked twice again, in rapid succession and with an even greater intensity of force.

“What?” came a muffled, irritated voice from inside the room.

“Hey there, Nandor, it’s your husband,” Guillermo called, voice strained with the effort it took to keep his composure instead of just screaming.

“You again?” Nandor replied, as if Guillermo were a persistent quack-elixir salesman rather than his husband. “Go away!”

“Absolutely, Nandor. Sure thing," he agreed readily. "As soon as you give me the keys.”

There was a moment of pronounced silence.

“...What keys?” Nandor asked with badly affected innocence. 

“The keys to the doors, Nandor.” There was another, longer silence. At least the vampire had the decency to be ashamed. Well, Guillermo could _hope_ shame was why he wasn’t answering. “Nandor?” he called out. “The keys to the doors. The keys you used to _lock me inside of our house_?” he continued, voice raising slightly and taking on an edge.

“It is _my_ house,” Nandor’s muffled, petulant voice retorted.

“It _was_ your house. Then we got married. Now it’s _our_ house. Which I should be able to enter and exit anytime I want.” There was no response. “Nandor, what was even your _plan_ here?” he asked, feeling almost hysterical at the sheer _absurdity_ of the vampire he’d married. “You _knew_ I was going out. I _told_ you. What did you think I was going to do when I found all the doors locked? Shrug and forget about it?” Still no response. Guillermo balled his hands into fists. “If you don’t open the door and talk to me, I’m going to break it down.”

“What?” came a flabbergasted squawk from inside the study.

“I said I’m going to break your _fucking_ door down, Nandor,” Guillermo shouted.

“You will break yourself!” Nandor shouted back, a frantic note entering his voice. “You are not allowed!”

“Then come out here and _stop_ me!” Guillermo challenged.

There was a long string of curse words, not all of them in English, and then the door opened just a crack to reveal the eye of a scowling vampire.

“Human, you need to-” Guillermo shoved the door inwards, forcing Nandor (who had clearly not expected this tactic) to stumble back into the room. Guillermo stepped over the threshold and shut the door behind him. 

“Sit down,” he ordered, pointing to a nearby chair.

For a moment they simply glowered at each other. Then Nandor, with an expression of painful reluctance, sat down, curling his long limbs inside his cape in a way that vaguely reminded Guillermo of a newborn lamb. A grimacing, pointy, hirsute, six-foot-something, heavily armored newborn lamb. With fangs. Making a strange creaking noise which Guillermo had never heard out of a vampire before. Guillermo took a deep breath, a moment to compose himself.

“I think, Nandor,” he began, drawing upon his remaining reserves of diplomacy and patience, “that we came into this marriage with very different ideas about what it was going to be like.” Guillermo waited for Nandor to reply, but the vampire only stared at him mutely, so he moved forward. “ _I_ came into it assuming we were two people who were forming a, a partnership. A _life_ together.” He held his hands out in front of him, interlaced his fingers to demonstrate cohesion. “That we'd try to _find_ things to like about each other, at least. But it’s become clear to me that _you_ ,” he gestured to Nandor, who cringed, “came into it thinking I was going to be just some sort of… of exotic _cactus_ , that you’d buy and keep in your hall as a weird status symbol. Something you didn't even really want. Something you’d have to water once a month, maybe, but other than that could just ignore until it died." Guillermo paused. He almost wished Nandor would argue against this characterization, but the vampire maintained his silence. "Obviously _both_ of us need to come to grips with having these expectations…” Guillermo took another deep breath in, releasing it slowly before continuing, “disappointed. For your part, that means you need to stop treating me like a cross between a cactus and a prisoner, and let me have the keys to my own house."

Nandor’s mouth twitched. He made a show of looking away from Guillermo and arranging his cape before responding. "And what if I will not give you the keys, mortal? What could _you_ do about it?"

 _What could I do about it?_ Guillermo thought, _I could do a thousand things about it. Slice you into pieces with my rapier, then skewer your dismembered limbs like a vampire brocheta. Lock your coffin shut and set it on fire. Hold a crucifix against your forehead until it burns through your skull and into your moldy brain. Throw holy water in your obnoxious face and then garotte you with a silver chain. Stake you right this_ fucking _second with any one of the_ six _stakes currently hidden on my person, you parasitic asshole._

"I think," Guillermo said, voice dark and heavy, “that it's better for the both of us if you never find out.“

“So, in other words, nothing,” Nandor replied, sickeningly smug and infuriatingly flippant, picking a piece of lint from his cape and then flicking it away-- presumably in illustration of his utter disregard for Guillermo’s threat potential.

Guillermo realized, in that moment, that if he didn’t calm down _immediately_ he would actually kill this fucking leech.

So Guillermo interlaced his fingers, pressed his clasped hands against his forehead, closed his eyes, and prayed for strength. He prayed to God, he prayed to Mary. He prayed to every saint he could remember, with special attention given to the martyrs. He prayed to his ancestors, vampire-slaying and otherwise, his mouth moving almost silently in the shape of his words. And only when his heartbeat slowed and his jaw unclenched and he was no longer intrusively aware of the weight of each stake he was carrying did he mutter ‘amen’ and separate his hands. He opened his eyes to find Nandor even more tightly curled up than before, his feet resting on the seat of his chair, his shoulders hunched and his eyes wide and frantic.

“What manner of ritual was that?” the vampire asked. “Why were you speaking in tongues? Did you curse me? Am I cursed? I _command_ you to release this curse at once!” he demanded, baring his teeth. He kind of reminded Guillermo of a frightened cat, arching its back and hissing. Guillermo glanced around the room for another chair, making a mental note of its rather haphazard state. He had never been here before-- Nandor had insisted his study remain private, and Guillermo had been content to accept that, up until tonight. He pulled over a footstool, placed it in front of Nandor and took a seat.

“I wasn’t cursing you, Nandor. I don’t even know how, I’m not a witch,” he explained. Nandor relaxed somewhat at this assurance, slowly lowering his feet back to the floor though he continued to eye Guillermo with a wary expression. “Nandor, could you explain to me, please, _why_ you think I need to be locked inside the house?” Nandor frowned slightly and remained mute. “I want to understand what you’re thinking, Nandor. I can’t figure it out all by myself,” he said, buttering up his question with an appeal to the vampire’s ego.

“Well...” Nandor began, unfurling himself ever so slightly from within the confines of his cape, seduced by the opportunity to lecture, “it is _dangerous_ , human. You are like a little mouse living in a city of owls.” He indicated the tininess of a mouse by pinching his fingers so that they almost touched. “If you leave your burrow what do you think will happen? Some owl will see you, and they will _swoop_ ,” he flexed the talons of his other hand and then enclosed them around his mouse hand. He imitated a sound which owls absolutely did not make-- it sounded kind of like a waterlogged growl. ”And they will _cranch_ ,” he flexed his jaw in an exaggerated bite, tightening the owl hand around the mouse hand “and no more Mr. Mouse,” he concluded, spreading his fingers. “You are Mr. Mouse, in this story,” he explained (unnecessarily). ”You have been _cranch-_ ed. You are no more.”

Guillermo refrained from pointing out that ‘Mr. Mouse’ could stake a dozen ‘owls’ in the span of like five minutes, and had done so on a few occasions. That obviously wasn’t going to get through to Nandor.

“Alright... but what _if_ , when Mr. Mouse wants to go outside, his _husband_ , Mr. Owl, who is a very strong warrior who owns like eighty swords, comes along _with_ him?” Nandor stared at Guillermo with an expression of hostile confusion. “In this story, you are Mr. Owl,” Guillermo explained (apparently necessarily). Nandor narrowed his eyes, nodded. “Wouldn’t the mouse be safe to leave the burrow then?”

“ _No_ ,” Nandor replied, “because the mouse is tiny and squishy and full of delicious blood, and the owls have sharp claws and sharp teeth and can move faster than his puny mouse eyes can even _see_.”

“So Mr. Owl is just going to stand there and let the other owls eat his husband?” Guillermo asked, briefly troubled by the distinct possibility that Nandor might agree, and relieved when the vampire shook his head frantically.

“No, Mr. Owl would not do that!” he protested.

“Is Mr. Owl not strong enough to protect his husband, then?” Guillermo needled. “Mr. Owl can’t take another owl on in a fight? Mr. Owl couldn’t take _ten_ owls on in a fight?“ 

“No!” Nandor growled, baring his teeth and pounding his fists to his knees. “Mr. Owl is the strongest owl! He would slaughter any owl who dared challenge him, regardless of their number!” But then the vampire grimaced, opened his hands and stared down at them. “But... but Mr. Mouse is still very _squishy_ , and he is also very _important_ ,” he said, cupping his hands together as if holding something small and precious, so achingly sincere that Guillermo could almost torture himself by imagining that Nandor meant important as a _person_ , important to _him_ , not just important as a political pawn. “And why does Mr. Mouse need to leave the burrow in the first place?” the vampire continued more hostilely. “Why cannot he stay there? It is a perfectly good burrow and Mr. Owl put into it everything mices need.”

 _You really didn’t,_ Guillermo thought. But, he had to admit, Nandor _had_ tried, and being told how dismally he’d failed had probably bruised his enormous but clearly quite delicate ego.

“And Mr. Mouse appreciates that,” Guillermo assured him. “But it’s hard for an owl to know everything a mouse needs, or to pick out the best mouse food, because it isn’t a mouse. Or, at least, it hasn’t been a mouse for over seven hundred years. And also, one of the things mice _need_? Is to go outside sometimes. Not even for mouse things. Just to avoid going _insane_.”

Nandor considered this silently, looking down at his cupped hands with a conflicted expression.

“Mr. Mouse appreciates it?” he finally ventured to ask.

“Mr. Mouse does. But it’s not easy to _be_ appreciative when Mr. Mouse has to worry about losing his little mouse mind or starving to death because Mr. Owl won’t take any feedback about mice needs.” 

Nandor reflected quietly on this-- or Guillermo hoped he was reflecting on his words, and not just thinking about axe polish or something.

“Well, that is ridiculous, mortal!” Nandor proclaimed abruptly, and even with all the patience of all the saints and ancestors he could name Guillermo still _barely_ restrained himself from punching the vampire. “He is a mouse, he cannot have feelings so complex!”

“Some would say neither can owls,” Guillermo muttered.

“Neither of them can!” Nandor scoffed. “They are silly animals with ittly bittly brains.” He stood, adjusting his clothing, and gave Guillermo a pointed look.

“What?” Guillermo snapped. Nandor bristled.

“Do you want to come outside or no, mortal? Make up your mind,” he chided, gesturing towards the door. “Your eyes are pathetic, after all, and we’re burning moonlight. Come.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do you know that the Farsi word for 'mouse' is often also used as a byword for something that is cute, adorable, and precious/coveted? I, for one, absolutely did NOT know that when I wrote out this chapter. Nandor is actually out here straight up doing gay shit I didn't even plan.
> 
> (Also I'm retroactively deciding this chapter counts as a Superb Owl fill for WWC2020)


	20. Vantage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Guillermo has fun and almost dies.

Giddy with what was, relatively speaking, a huge step forward in his relationship with Nandor, Guillermo had made a dogged effort to engage his husband in conversation as they began to walk the grounds. But the vampire had retreated back into a stony silence punctuated very rarely by impartial grunts. 

Eventually Guillermo gave up on trying to coax Nandor into talking and turned the majority of his focus to assessing the grounds and their resources, taking notations in his book and sketching out the rudimentary beginning of a map on a larger sheet of paper which he’d folded to fit between the pages. Guillermo, uncomfortable with silence, ended up filling it by thinking out loud, muttering observation which Nandor could no doubt hear but probably didn’t care to follow, his focus narrowed to the task ahead of him. The next hour passed relatively uneventfully, with Guillermo discovering a mixture of pleasant and unpleasant surprises on the grounds. The dovecote adjacent to the stables appeared to have been left to fallow for decades, if not centuries, but there were promising signs of continued occupation even from the outside. There was an irrigation system, albeit one which needed maintenance badly. Its channels had fed into a once grand garden, which had become unruly and neglected over the years, most of its plants now diseased or shriveled, others dead and a few run wild.

“Why does it not dry out of ink?”

Guillermo jolted and took a half turn around, hand already reaching for a stake, before he fully registered that the voice that had sounded from close above his head belonged to Nandor. 

“The stick that you have,” the vampire elaborated when Guillermo did not immediately answer. “You have not once dipped it into ink, yet it is still marking the page.” He sounded irritated by this fact. 

“It’s graphite.” Guillermo lifted the tool, showing it to Nandor. “Makes for a really good pensil, way better than lead or charcoal. It’ll smudge all over your hand though, if you don’t wrap it in something.”

“It does not become dry?” Nandor asked with obvious skepticism. He reached over Guillermo’s shoulder to poke at the most recently drawn line. He lifted his fingertip from the page and turned it, a ghostlike reflection of the mark visible on his skin. He rubbed his fingers together and hummed thoughtfully. Guillermo was excruciatingly aware of Nandor’s torso pressed against his back, of the way his chest expanded and contracted slightly with reflexive breath, of how big his hand and his fingers were, of the tickle of surprisingly soft hair against his cheek. “What do these lines mean?”

“Uh,” Guillermo replied, his brain proving very uncooperative at the moment. “I’m trying to make a map.” He looked around, squinting in the moonlight. He thought he’d done a decent job of rendering the scale and orientation of the area, but he wished he could check from a higher vantage point. He supposed he could ask Nandor how to get to the roof of their house, since there didn’t appear to be any taller buildings close by. “It would help if I could get a better view,” he sighed.

He jolted at the sensation of hands suddenly, _firmly_ grasping the back of his arms, turning just in time to see Nandor recoil and then badly pretend not to have done anything-- hiding his hands under his cape and looking around as if extremely fascinated by overgrown rose bushes and clumps of weeds. He hummed as if in deep thought and kicked over a half rotted tree branch, nodded decisively as if this action confirmed some theory he had devised.

“Nandor?” Guillermo prompted. Nandor winced, scraped at the moldering tree branch with the toe of his boot, and cleared his throat.

“It is nothing,” he said. “I merely thought, you would see better from,” he glanced upwards at the sky.

“Oh, that would be great, actually,” Guillermo tried not to sound too eager (and probably failed). “But you should actually grab me, uh, under the arms-- better support that way. And I’ll be able to sketch.” Guillermo hastily stashed his map and pensil inside his girdle book and buckled it closed, then lifted his arms and turned his back to Nandor.

There was a brief moment of silence in which Guillermo worried Nandor wouldn’t be able to bring himself to even _touch_ him, but then the vampire grasped him gingerly around his waist and with a small hop began to ascend rapidly into the sky. Guillermo looked on breathlessly as the capital shrank beneath them, wind whistling in his ear, and he shivered slightly from both excitement and chill. Nandor’s maille and plating jangled like a rudimentary windchime. The vampire was holding his waist in his hands tightly now, securely, and Guillermo tried not to think anything of this. He could feel the slightest hint of Nandor’s breath, barely lukewarm, against the nape of his neck. 

Guillermo looked around and then down. He let out a dizzy, thrilled giggle at how high up they were, kicking out his legs to see them dangle over nothing.

“So cool,” he marveled to himself. He spent a moment admiring the grounds of his and Nandor’s home, then peered over at the neighboring properties. He took in the skyline of the capital, the aqueduct systems, the dimly lit roads on which distant vampires and their coaches traveled like colorful ants and glossy beetles marching over black velvet ribbons. Small flickering lanterns traversed the streets like wandering treasure lights or peeked out from inside homes. The Temple of Blood Devourers rose up from the center of the city like a pale beacon of marble. “ _So_ cool,” he repeated.

“Are you going to start the sketching soon?” Nandor asked from behind his head, sounding slightly strained. Guillermo winced. 

“Oh, s- sorry, I must be heavy,” he muttered in embarrassment. 

Nandor snorted.

“No, human, you are not heavy to me. It is like holding two pomegranates. But you are getting cold.”

Guillermo was about to dismiss Nandor’s concern when he realized it was actually true. His ears and the tip of his nose stung from the biting wind, and his fingers felt kind of numb. With further embarrassment he realized he had unconsciously placed his hands atop Nandor’s for stability while admiring the scenery. He yanked them away and reached down for his girdle book, encountering some difficulty in unbuckling the tome due to his chilled fingers.

Three things happened in fairly quick succession after that. The first: Guillermo opened his girdle book, and the folded paper on which he’d rendered his map, along with his stave of graphite, were tossed by the wind into the dark void of the night. 

The second: Nandor removed one of his hands from Guillermo’s waist, reaching out in the direction of the fluttering paper.

The third: Guillermo began plummeting directly towards the ground sixty feet below.

Guillermo was lucky in that he only had to endure the terror of certain death for the split second that passed between his brain registering what exactly was happening and his body coming to a jarring but blessedly non-terminal stop against something solid and cold which he quickly identified as his husband’s torso.

“Shit!” Nandor exclaimed, arms wrapping tightly around Guillermo’s middle, pinning his arms and pushing their chests together as he descended, wide eyes frantically searching Guillermo’s face. Guillermo registered blearily that they had returned to earth, or at least that Nandor had-- the vampire was holding Guillermo off the ground, his legs dangling. “Are you well?” he asked, and Guillermo was struck by the look on his face, the abject _terror_ there. The fact that Nandor, who so infamously declared himself fearless, had been so worried for his safety arrested his voice in his throat.

Then Nandor repositioned his grip and began shaking Guillermo rather vigorously, quite ruining the moment.

“Human! Do you still function?” Nandor yelled.

“I’m alright, Nandor,” Guillermo yelled back, grasping the vampire’s arms in an attempt to still his frantic motions. 

“Oh thank-” Nandor pulled the other man flush against him, his hand on the back of the mortal’s head pressing his face against the base of the vampire’s neck. Guillermo could smell leather and linseed oil, the dark, deep amber and resin-smoke scent he could now name as oud, and his skin burned with heat against Nandor’s cool flesh. “It would be _quite_ bad to me if I broke you,” Nandor mumbled into his hair. 

Guillermo closed his eyes, shoulders slumping. Of course Nandor was thinking about the consequences to _himself_. Of course the fear in his eyes had been about the disciplinary repercussions of killing him, and not because Nandor felt even the slightest attachment or affection towards Guillermo.

“Can you put me down?” he asked gruffly. Nandor hesitated before he bent down to let Guillermo’s feet touch the ground.

Guillermo pulled away with haste before his warming, adrenaline-addled body could react to being pressed up against Nandor’s solid figure in a way that would just embarrass him. He turned his back to his husband and cast around for his map and pensil, knowing the chance that they had landed nearby were dismal but checking anyway. An eternal optimist, he supposed he was. He let out a bitter sigh at his own foolishness.

“You really should not be so _clumsy_ , human,” Nandor lectured in a crisp voice.

“So- you _dropped_ me!” Guillermo exclaimed, turning around and gawking at Nandor in disbelief. 

The vampire at least had the courtesy to look momentarily uncomfortable before opening his mouth again. “And _caught_ you!” he protested. “Don’t forget I am the one that caught you, ungrateful mortal!”

“You can’t take credit for that when you’re the one that dropped me!” Guillermo exclaimed, exasperated. 

“I can take credit, I just did,” Nandor asserted.

“Well I take it back,” Guillermo countered.

“You cannot.”

Guillermo walked up to Nandor and mimed picking something out of his hair. “Boop,” he said.

“What was that?” Nandor demanded.

“Your credit,” Guillermo replied, holding up two fingers pinched around nothing.

“It is not,” the vampire protested, reaching for it anyway. Guillermo evaded him easily, dancing just outside of his grasp and then escaping a second grab a moment later, slipping under his arm and to the side with light footwork. “Give that back!”

Guillermo brandished the ‘credit’ briefly before shoving it into his mouth.

“No!” Nandor cried out in outrage. 

He leapt forward and grasped Guillermo’s face, glaring helplessly at his mouth, with a look of such anguished frustration that Guillermo couldn’t help but laugh, at first trying to muffle it behind closed lips but then giving himself fully into the absurdity of the moment and letting it burst forth unimpeded. He wasn’t sure how long he stood there, laughing like a lunatic in an overgrown garden while his vampire husband smushed his face, but by the time he stopped his stomach hurt a little bit and Nandor was looking down at him with a strange, almost lost, expression.

“I am sorry that you were dropped,” Nandor said after Guillermo’s laughter had died off entirely. Which was the mealiest apology Guillermo had ever heard, but also the closest he’d gotten to receiving _any_ apology from Nandor in the time he’d known him.

“Apology accepted,” he responded. Nandor kept staring at him, his hands still clasped to Guillermo’s cheeks, tense as if in anticipation of… something. “Nandor?” he asked, brow furrowing. Nandor so quickly released his face and turned his back to Guillermo that the only sign that he hadn’t teleported was the slightly sway of his cape and his hair as they settled in the aftermath of his motion.

“So...” Guillermo began after a moment of silence, “I guess we can go through the last acre and then call it a night? I’ll try to recreate the map as best I can from memory once I’m back at the house.”

Nandor grunted indifferently, gestured for Guillermo to go ahead, and did not speak again for the remainder of the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Local vampire boggled by [cutting edge 16th century technology.](https://museumofeverydaylife.org/current-exhibitions/visual-history-of-the-pencil)


	21. Husbandry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Guillermo catches Nandor in a compromising situation.

Guillermo dipped a small ceramic bowl into the pail of water he had pumped earlier that night for use in preparing his and Jenna’s breakfast (arroz con leche-- although there was in fact no milk to be had, so it was more properly arroz con agua). He covered the bowl with his hand to keep it from spilling, exiting the kitchen and making his way to the room where his remaining messenger pigeon resided. In accordance with the plan he’d made with his family and Doug Peterson, he had sent the first pigeon out the nightfall after his wedding with a short message confirming his wellbeing. This one he would keep a while longer-- he was still compiling the list of items he would need his family to order on his behalf, and still trying to discern how to get said items shipped into Daptes in a reliable manner. The second task was something he could probably benefit from consulting them on, but he was also waiting because he wanted to be able to assure them that the replacement bird had arrived before he sent this one out. He knew they didn’t like the idea of him being without means to contact them quickly in an emergency. He wasn’t keen on the thought himself-- even though, with the ways things were shaping up, it didn’t seem all that likely that he would need it. 

He kept his footsteps quiet as he walked down the hall towards the pigeon’s room, having learned by now that Jenna got very jumpy at the sound of footfalls and couldn't yet tell his from Nandor’s. He turned into the open threshold and froze.

Nandor was standing in front of the wicker cage, staring at the messenger pigeon with focused intensity.

"You _are_ a handsome fellow Mr. Bird, with your shiny neck," he said quietly, seriously, poking his forefinger through the cage and wiggling it. The pigeon, roosting in a high corner, tilted its head and let out a soft rustling coo. Nandor contemplated the bird with an intent expression. "Do you like to eat berries? Are berries a treat for you?" he mused, scratching the end of a talon against the bottom of the cage as of trying to beckon a cat. "An apple is too big," he muttered. The pigeon bobbed its head and adjusted its wings. "The human Guillermo has not told me your name," Nandor said in a slightly petulant tone. 

Guillermo almost dropped the bowl he was holding. Nandor knew his name? Since when did Nandor know his _name_? Guillermo could feel an involuntary, excited grin spread across his face at this discovery, despite being quite aware of how pathetic it made him to be so thrilled by such minute courtesy. They were literally married, had been living together for over a week now, and for all Guillermo knew Nandor had only taken the time to actually learn his name yesterday. Still, this was his first indication that Nandor even remembered he _had_ a name, which was at least _something_.

"I tire of his inscrutability,” Nandor declared with the air of a tyrant king ordering an execution, “I will give you my _own_ name." Nandor narrowed his eyes and retracted his finger from the cage. He paused dramatically, ominously, as if preparing a declaration of war, scrutinizing the pigeon thoroughly. "You shall be called... Jessica," he decreed. 

Guillermo smacked his hand over his mouth too late to muffle his snort of amusement, and Nandor jolted and looked aside at the human in horror.

"What are you doing here, human?" the vampire demanded, his hand going immediately to his sword as if Guillermo might attack him. "Sneaking? _Spying_? I knew you were there, so whatever it is you heard me saying, it was a trick. I was tricking you," he asserted.

"I was getting the bird new water," Guillermo explained, lofting the bowl.

"Ah, good, I was worried-" Nandor began before he caught himself, squared his shoulders and affected a brusque tone, adjusting the sash into which he tucked his various weapons. "No, no I was not worried, I do not worry for, for little rat birds.” He made a dismissive shooing motion in the general direction of the pigeon. “If they have water or not. I could care less. Could _not_ care less."

Guillermo restrained the laughter that threatened to bubble forth from his throat with almost herculean effort. For a brilliant military strategist Nandor was remarkably bad at lying under pressure.

"What are you so afraid is going to happen if I find out you care about a bird, Nandor?" he couldn’t resist teasing. The vampire sputtered.

"What? Afrai- I fear _nothing_ , mortal!" he proclaimed.

"Yeah, sure. Step aside, please,” Guillermo prompted, gesturing for the vampire to move out from in front of the cage door. Nandor acquiesced with reluctance, watching as he opened the door, put the bowl on the floor of the cage, and then closed the cage once more. “It doesn’t actually have a name, you know, so I guess Jessica is as good as any,” he noted.

"Your pet _birdy_ was important enough to be brought all the way here, but not important enough to name?" Nandor asked, his tone somewhere between incredulity and grave offense. 

"It isn't a pet, it's a messenger pigeon. So I can send letters to Trestait," Guillermo explained. There was a moment of silence.

"...You will be sending Jessica away?" Nandor asked in an unusually small voice.

“Probably not for a few days still,” Guillermo said with a shrug. Nandor looked at the pigeon, frowning slightly.

"When shall she return?" he asked.

Guillermo shrugged again.

"I don't know. We keep several pigeons on the compound, and with hawks and owls around they don’t always live all that long. We might see Jessica next month, we might never see her again.”

Guillermo glanced at Nandor’s face, watched as it was overtaken by an expression of immense sorrow. The vampire reached his finger through the wicker again, wiggling it towards the bird, who inspected it from afar.

It appeared that Nandor’s weakness for animals extended beyond his favorite horses. Interesting. Guillermo thought back to two nights prior, when early on in his exploration of the grounds he had insisted on seeing inside the stables. He’d been hoping that asking questions about the horses would be enough to pry Nandor out of his heavily armored shell. Nandor hadn’t responded as he’d hoped-- continuing to stand off to the side, stiff and mute as a statue, alternating between staring intensely at Guillermo and examining his surroundings warily. The horse in the stall he had stationed himself in front of had poked its head out and nuzzled at Nandor’s shoulder, lipping gently at the edge of his capelet, which Nandor had steadfastly ignored. 

However, by turning aside and making a show of looking very intently at his girdle book while keeping the vampire within his peripheral vision, Guillermo had been able to witness his husband cautiously reach aside and pat the horse on its nose a few times. Guillermo had wondered, then, if Nandor talked to his horses in a silly babytalk voice, or if he talked to them in a normal conversational tone. Both possibilities had seemed distinctly endearing, and so Guillermo had decided it would be better if he never knew. The last thing he needed was to add fuel to the flame of his irrational and annoyingly persistent infatuation with his husband.

Well, Guillermo mused, he supposed he knew now, if the way Nandor had softly spoken to the pigeon was any indication. Mostly serious, but with a hint of tender fondness that Guillermo had never heard in Nandor’s voice before that moment. 

Guillermo told himself, _firmly_ , that he wasn’t going to be jealous of a bird because Nandor had spoken to it nicely. He also told himself that the look of concern and longing on Nandor’s face when he stared at the pigeon was in no way adorable, and that said look did not provoke further jealousy of, again, a fucking _pigeon_. And, while he was already in the swing of blatantly lying to himself, he also went ahead and told himself he’d been nominated for sainthood and that it was going to rain conchas tomorrow.

"Do you have anything you need to do tonight?" he asked Nandor, forcing himself to put pigeon envy and dessert storms aside.

"I always have things that must be done every night," Nandor replied, crisp and cold and without any of the sentimental fondness he'd shown to the bird which he was still staring at.

"Will you be doing anything urgent, or need to go to the temple for a meeting?" Guillermo pressed.

"No," Nandor said slowly, warily, eyes sliding over to Guillermo.

"Great, because I was hoping we could go out to the grounds again tonight-" 

" _Already?_ " Nandor interrupted, eyes rounded in astonishment. "But you have gone only just nights ago. You are fine now, are you not? You should be fine for at _least_ a year."

Guillermo rolled his eyes skyward and reminded himself to be _patient_.

"A year is a very long time Nandor,” he explained, “at least for humans. There’s no way I'm going to wait a year to go outside again, I want to do it tonight-- it looks like it's going to be a clear night, and given the moon is in wane we might not get a better chance until next month.” Nandor opened his mouth to speak. “I'm not waiting a month either, so don't even suggest it," Guillermo added before he could say anything. 

Nandor closed his mouth and scowled down at him for a moment, but then looked away and muttered: "Fine."

"Good,” Guillermo said, almost meaning it a little bit. “I’d like to start in a quarter hour, if you can be ready by then. I've roughed out a map based on what I remembered from our first expedition, so for starters you can fly me back up so I can refine it."

“What- back- No!” Nandor stammered, staring in indignant horror at Guillermo. “I am not _flying you back up_ , mortal. It is too dangerous,” he proclaimed, stamping his foot to the floor for emphasis. Guillermo rolled his eyes and crossed his arms.

“Are you planning to drop me again?” he asked archly.

“Of course not!” the vampire sputtered.

“Then it shouldn’t be dangerous,” Guillermo reasoned. Nandor squinted at him in confusion and disbelief for a moment before looking away and shaking his head.

“It is _highly_ naive of you to allow someone the opportunity to drop you twice,” the vampire noted, his attention turned back to the pigeon, who had hopped down to the cage floor and was pecking at the food Guillermo had brought in earlier.

"Yeah,” Guillermo sighed, unable to stop his gaze from settling on his husband’s handsome profile, his dark and passionate eyes, his wide mouth bent into a small frown. “It probably is.”


	22. Concession

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Nandor contemplates the unknown and is persuaded into forging a compromise.

Despite the ludicrous and foolhardy nature of Guillermo’s request, Nandor had generously decided to oblige his human’s desire to be taken back into the air for the purposes of his map making. Mindful of their previous flying disaster, Nandor had been careful to hold his husband far more securely before taking off, even as doing so put the vampire quite close in proximity to his warm human body. It was a strange intimacy, to be in the air with Guillermo, the human’s hair blowing into his face and whipping it with the smell of cinnamon and the whisper of blood-- it was quiet. It afforded too much opportunity for Nandor to think about troublesome topics.

Troublesome topics such as how ceaselessly vexing the mortal in his arms had been proving to him. Nandor knew humans to be flighty and capricious, but he had not expected that after little more than a week of marriage to Guillermo he would already be hopelessly tangled in the puzzle of his husband’s petty whims.

It baffled Nandor that the mortal seemed keen to reject or otherwise thwart every kindness the vampire offered him. He thought Nandor disappointed that his human was not like a cactus-- hardy, self sufficient, indifferent to hardship, capable of defending itself. As one would expect an heir of Van Helsing to be. Yet Guillermo responded with fierce opposition when Nandor attempted to reassure him he had no such expectations. He claimed to appreciate Nandor's efforts to meet his needs and keep him safe, yet criticized every attempt Nandor made towards providing for him and insisted to put himself into reckless danger. In order that the human might feel safe to walk the halls of Nandor’s house, the vampire had hidden away in his study and done as best he could to avoid Guillermo as he moved about the premises. Yet the mortal responded by pestering him at the slightest pretense. Did the human not realize how _boring_ it was to sit in his study for most the night? How irritating an imposition it was to have to sneak around his own home so that his husband could have this minor freedom? The human showed no evidence of appreciating the inconvenience that he had inflicted upon Nandor’s life. Instead he had complained petulantly that Nandor had taken into account the human’s foolhardiness in planning security. It was utterly baffling.

Trying to understand the human he had married was taking up an annoying amount of space in Nandor’s brain. He tried to remind himself that humans were illogical by nature, and that there was clearly no hope of puzzling out the innermost machinations of their squishy warm brains. Yet still he found his mind collecting information about Guillermo entirely without conscious approval. Yet still he caught himself scrambling to make patterns out of actions which time after time proved ultimately indecipherable.

Nandor noted that the cold air had begun to leech the warmth from his human’s flesh and cause him to shiver, which was highly displeasing to him. The vampire attempted to remedy this by pulling the human closer and deeper into his arms, but this caused its own troubles. Nandor was very glad that he stayed always in the habit of wearing armor because it disguised the arousal that overtook his body now, alone with Guillermo and the smell of him and the softness of his flesh beneath his hands, his weight pressed against Nandor's chest and his hips. His neck was inches from Nandor’s mouth-- he’d need only bow his head and tilt his face to press his lips to the strip of flesh above his collared tunic, to bite through fabric and flesh alike and feed from him. This was the closest Nandor had gotten to his husband since the kiss at their wedding, and he was barely managing to restrain himself from rutting against the delectable mortal. A small part of him hoped petulantly that Guillermo would become aware of exactly how tempted Nandor was to ravish him-- if for nothing else than so that he might appreciate how much effort Nandor was putting into _not_ doing any such thing, and thus be perhaps a bit more grateful in attitude. But the most part of him knew such awareness would only cause fear and unease and render complication to what little understanding and rapport Nandor had managed to form with his husband so far. He’d received a glaring reminder of this truth when he'd impulsively embraced his husband and pathetically revealed how devastated he would be if Guillermo had come to harm-- the mortal had responded by demanding at once to be released and turning from him. The human obviously much preferred for Nandor to maintain his aloofness.

Guillermo claimed that he had come into marriage with the expectation of a partnership. He claimed he had striven to find likeable aspects to Nandor. He claimed that he now knew such things to be impossible-- that he could discover appealing features in his husband, that he could consider them anything beyond wary allies jockeying for power over one another. Whatever it was that had driven the human to initially seek to form a partnership of mutual care, it had quickly exhausted when faced with the reality of Nandor’s bitter disinterest in sentiment and sensitivity. 

Nandor heard the clacking porcelain sound of Guillermo’s teeth chattering and noted he had begun with the shivering again. He began their descent.

“H- hey, what are you doing?” the human asked.

“We’re going back down,” Nandor explained. “You are getting cold, this is dangerous.”

“Oh come on,” Guillermo protested, "I'm fine. A little cold won't hurt me."

"I know very well that humans can die of coldness, mortal, so do not think you will be tricking me," Nandor advised sternly, touching the soles of his boots down to the overrun garden and then bending forwards to carefully place Guillermo's feet likewise on the ground.

"Do you really think I'd try to trick you into letting me die of exposure?" the human asked, looking over his shoulder and making quite sarcastic a face at him. Nandor glowered in reply.

"I do not know what it is that goes around in your little human head!" he snapped. "You are insisting on doing a great many foolish things!" Nandor realized he was still holding the human by the waist, retracted his hands quickly. "I will _not_ enable your foolhardiness beyond what is necessity," he concluded with an authoritative stomp of his foot.

Guillermo rolled his eyes and returned his attention to his map. Over the course of their flight it had coalesced from rough shapes and scribbles into a relatively competent rendering of the grounds around Nandor’s house. There were little symbols and notations written in human code also scattered upon the paper.

"Why is it that you are making this for, mortal?" Nandor asked.

“For planning the farm,” Guillermo said, as if this were obvious. Nandor startled, stared at the human in astonished bewilderment.

“The, the _what_?”

“The farm,” Guillermo repeated, still focusing intently upon his scribblings. “You know, like we talked about.”

“We talked about no such things, mortal,” Nandor asserted. Guillermo glanced at him in apparent confusion.

“I told you the long term plan was for us to generate our own human food supply, Nandor. That means growing crops, raising livestock-” 

“I said that I would _think_ upon letting you do such things, as you begged of me,” Nandor reminded his human. “And I have _not_ finished thinking yet!”

“ _No_ ,” Guillermo said, raising his forefinger in emphasis of his defiance, “I asked if you’d think about _helping_ me do it. It would be great to do this together, but it’s happening whether or not you help out.”

Nandor crossed his arms, squinting into his human’s stern face.

“Mortal, be practical. Who shall perform these labors? No vampire would tarnish their dignity by involving themselves in such wretched work, and the familiar human is sensitive and weakly like a little plague child. She would die if compelled to do such labors,” he explained, hoping that his husband would see reason.

“Oh, I can take care of the initial work myself,” Guillermo said, as if this were a rather minor issue. “Given we’re only concerned about feeding me and Jenna at this point.”

“ _You_ are going to do the farming work? Like a, like some kind of a _dirt peasant_?” Nandor asked incredulously. His fussy human, who did not even know what it was a _horse_ ate? “It is not to be some fun little activity, you know. It is very difficult according to the whining of human peasants. It is hours and hours of, of,” Nandor scrambled to recall the tasks which were involved in farming, “ _digging_ , and, carrying buckets. Sweeping. Moving a big rock around. Spitting in a jug? Cowering in a hovel. Wailing?” 

“Are you just naming random things you remember seeing humans doing?” Guillermo asked.

That was exactly what Nandor was doing. “That is _not_ what I am doing,” he protested. 

“Sure,” Guillermo said, sounding suspiciously unconvinced, before moving on. “Obviously it’s going to be a lot of work, especially initially, but we can get it done so long as we manage our time and resources well. That’s why mapping out the lay of the land now is important. It gives us the opportunity to plan out the fields-- how many we should start off with, what size they should be, where on the property to establish them, what crops to grow in them and in what combinations. Once we’ve done that we can start ordering the appropriate seeds and tools, and while we wait for those to ship in we’ll do what we can to fix up the irrigation system and prepare for planting using the resources we already have on hand. I think we’ll be able to wait a bit before laying the groundwork for large scale livestock keeping-- for now we should be able to source a decent meat supply just from the feral chickens and goats wandering around. And the dovecote, of course, which is a huge bonus for us since we can also source eggs and fertilizer from it.”

“...You have quite a lot of information in your little human brain,” Nandor observed, looking his husband over out of the side of his eye with a twinge of unease. “Why is it that you know so much about these things? Your people, they are not _farm_ people.”

Guillermo raised his eyebrows. “If by ‘my people’ you mean my family? Yeah, we kind of are. We keep livestock and we grow a lot of our food ourselves.”

Nandor scoffed. “I am supposed to believe slayers spend their daylight hours _donkey herding_? Such labor is below your dignity, surely.”

“Only by weird vampire standards,” Guillermo claimed, folding his map and shutting his book around it with a snap. “You know Nandor, _your people_ would benefit a lot if you stopped insisting on drawing weird arbitrary lines between dignified and undignified labor.”

“And how would we benefit?” Nandor challenged. “This operation you are insisting upon, the invasion of my grounds by human plants, you say _we_ and _ours_ but it is entirely for _your_ benefit, is it not?”

“It _isn’t_ , though,” Guillermo said. “Or at least, it doesn’t have to be. You can benefit from the farm too. You said it was important to you to be able to give your horses consistent, good quality fodder. I’m going to take a wild guess that that isn’t easy when you’re forced to rely on unregulated middle men and smugglers, is it?” 

Nandor frowned. “It _has_ been at times difficult to acquire such supplies, and especially to obtain hay of consistent quality,” he admitted. “I usually have to pillage it, but I do not always get much because of the fact that it is very easy and also fun to set on fire.”

“Well, if you help me grow my human food, it should also make it possible for me to grow your horse food. By working together, _both_ of us can get something we want,” Guillermo suggested. “So, do we have a deal?”

Nandor narrowed his eyes, considering Guillermo with newfound appreciation. He wondered, with equal parts trepidation and hope, if he had perhaps underestimated his husband’s capacity for critical thought. He nodded cautiously. 


	23. Invitation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Nandor and his husband are extended an invitation.

“Before you go, Nandor,” Empress Tilda said, fiddling with the seam of her glove and grimacing slightly before raising her head to look across the table to Nandor, “there’s something I’d just like to clear up with you.” 

"Yes, your Unholiness?"

“How is... your husband?” her Unholiness asked, in a tone that implied she was broaching a matter of profound gravity.

“My... husband?” Nandor echoed, entirely uncertain what the Empress’ concern would be with his human. Nandor had expected her Unholiness to have follow up questions about his battle strategy suggestions, not inquiries about his personal life. The Empress looked at Nandor expectantly, her fingers intertwined on the surface of the table. Nandor struggled in vain to come up with something to say about the human which would be the concern or interest of an Empress. "What... about him?"

“Well you see, Nandor,” her Unholiness began, scratching the side of her cheek briefly and then sending a glance aside to Viago, who made a brief discomfited face in reply, before returning her attention to Nandor. “I can’t help but notice that you haven’t brought him around to any of our meetings.” 

Nandor furrowed his brow in confusion. Why would he do such a thing? Some of the vampires brought their familiar humans to meetings, but they mostly stood around looking sad and being useless. Surely a husband human would be even more useless-- especially Nandor’s husband human, who seemed determined to utilize his wiles to inconvenience and thwart him at every measure. Nandor might have granted Guillermo the privilege of exiting his house under strict supervision, but bringing the mortal to his place of work was much different. It had been anxiety provoking enough taking him out onto the grounds, where an assassin might strike at any moment. Taking the human to the Temple, where Nandor worked alongside those most opposed to the alliance? It would be foolishness without parallel. Especially given how full of delicious blood the mortal was. 

Delicious, _virgin_ blood. 

Though there were some vampires who claimed the ability to identify virgins by scent alone, the consensus among vampiric authorities was that taste was the only way to definitively identify virgin blood-- but this was of little reassurance to Nandor given his human was so foolhardy and so capable of inspiring bloodlust frenzy. If the human’s virginity was discovered to be intact, there would be questions of why this was so. And Nandor would very much not be able to explain why he, the fiercest and most merciless warrior in their unholy kingdom, who had driven humans to their deaths by the tens of thousands and slaughtered his own kind in battle, had shirked his duties out of feelings of- 

(Nandor cut that thought off in the same manner as he lopped heads off of necks from horseback-- quickly and with a good deal of brutality) 

-that is, out of how _inconvenient_ it would be, for Guillermo to be all weepy and mad about it.

“...We assumed you’d want to show him off,” Empress Tilda continued, sweeping her arms through the air to indicate a grand display. “You know, flex upon the diplomats and the visitors and the other generals, ‘Ooo look at my shiny human pet, so alive and healthy and full of delicious blood.’” The last bit she said in a deeper voice and with a jaunty sort of wiggle of her raised hands. “Who _wouldn’t_ want to show everyone how alive and full of blood their human is? That is, presuming their human _is_ still alive and full of blood?” Nandor could not understand what it was her Unholiness was getting at. He looked aside at the other vampires present-- Viago, Vladislav, Simon the Devious-- in search of a clue. Each of them he found to be looking at him in a tense, serious way which was entirely uninformative. He looked back at his Empress, whose face was now rather drawn. “Nandor,” she said, her tone turning grim, “there are rumours going around that you... ate him.”

 _“What?”_ Nandor squawked.

"You _didn't_ eat him, did you Nandor?" her Unholiness asked, her golden eyes flashing and her voice taking on an edge of menace. "I mean, I know you went a bit feral at the ceremony and all, but you _assured_ me you had yourself under control. If you _ate_ him-"

"The human is not _eaten_ , the human is fine!” Nandor protested, outraged by this accusation. “He is entirely alive and healthy and, and bloodfull!”

For a moment everyone only stared at him.

Then Viago let out a theatrical sigh of relief, cutting the silence. He mimed wiping his forehead and then placed his fingertips to the center of his chest. “Well, that’s quite a relief to hear! Isn’t it a relief, you guys?” he prompted, looking around the table.

“Yes, is good to know,” Vladislav said with a slight nod, eyeing Nandor with covert concern.

“You had us _worried_ there a moment Nandor, you scamp!” Simon the Devious drawled, his mouth smiling but his gaze hard and calculating.

“Yes, you really did,” the Empress said with a little laugh, her cheerful affect thankfully returning with the delivery of this news. 

“Why would you even think that I would do such a thing?” Nandor asked, rather indignant to discover that the other vampires genuinely believed him so out of control that he would not be able to resist drinking his husband-- and worse, so cowardly and seditious that he would then hide his doing of this from the Empress and Council.

“No one has seen your human since you took him to coffin on the night of your wedding,” Vladislav noted. “That was like, two weeks ago.”

“At first we just figured you were, you know, having a bit of _alone time fun_ with your new toy,” the Empress noted with a chuckle and a whimsical shrug, ”but then, you know, we started to get a bit worried..." she winced briefly before continuing. "But he _is_ alright, then?”

“He is alive and he is fine!” Nandor asserted. “He has all of the blood that I found him with!” Nandor recalled the blood ritual, frowned. “Well, quite _nearly_ all of it. More than enough to be functional. The point is, he is still very full of blood and very alive and healthy. And such.”

"Wonderful!” Simon the Devious proclaimed with a particularly gleeful smile, “Because I simply cannot _wait_ to show the adorable little thing off to Grendel tomorrow night.”

“ _What?_ ” Nandor choked more so than asked, voice catching as he vacillated between confusion and incandescent rage. Confusion because he had no clue what in damnation the other vampire was referring to. Rage at the suggestion that Guillermo should ever, in any context, be considered _Simon’s ‘_ adorable little thing’ to show off to whoever and whatever the fuck _Grendel_ was.

“At the party!” Simon exclaimed, his hands and grin spreading to nearly ludicrous proportions. “You _will_ bring him to the party, won’t you?” he urged when Nandor said nothing in reply to his chattering. “Come Nandor, you simply _must_ bring him to the party.”

Nandor sneered across the table at Simon the Devious. He would not be _cajoled_ into accepting this obligation, like some weak willed peasant being overcharged for a human food vegetable at the trade market. He hadn’t any idea what the other vampire meant to get at with this, but Nandor would not allow for his human to step one foot into this party, no matter how Simon pleaded.

“Yes Nandor!” the Empress piped up from the head of the table. “You absolutely _must_ bring the little thing. If only to, well, you know, quash all those nasty little rumors about him being anything _but_ completely alive and adequately full of blood. You _will_ do that for me, won’t you Nandor?” she prompted, her grin thin and sharp.

Nandor’s sneering expression collapsed abruptly. _Well, shit,_ he thought. 

Simon the Devious winked at him.

“But what’s my _purpose_ there?” Guillermo asked from his perch at the edge of his bed, irritatingly calm and focused on the entirely wrong aspect of the next night’s event.

“Your purpose is that Simon the Devious said I must bring you, and the Empress agreed, so now you must be brought,” Nandor answered, throwing his hands into the air to indicate that this was the totality of his knowledge on the subject. The human familiar Jenna, who had been scurrying beside him with a comb, squeaked and recoiled in terror at the motion despite Nandor’s talons having passed a generous half inch away from her face. 

“Right, but why do Simon and the Empress _want_ me there?” Guillermo asked, yet again, as if Nandor would be having a different answer for the same question just because he’d used different words for it.

“Why do you even care, mortal?” he growled aside at Guillermo as he stalked the length of his crypt.

“I’d just like to have an idea of how they want me to act,” his human husband said, raising his eyebrow in total disrespect of the fierce power of Nandor’s growl. “What's their angle, in bringing me around? Am I there as a notable hostage, to demonstrate Daptes’ ability to throw its weight around in negotiations? Am I there as happy newlywed, to convince another human kingdom it would be a good idea to make a similar alliance? Am I just there as a glorified bloodbag, to stand around smelling nice and making other vampires drool?”

“There will be no performances and no _angles_. You will remain by my side and you will not speak unless spoken to," Nandor snapped, incensed at the prospect of _other vampires_ salivating over _his_ husband. 

“I guess I’ll figure it out myself,” Guillermo said. Nandor grunted rather than prolong the argument by expressing misgivings that any human could hope to understand the intricate politics by which vampires in the highest echelons operated. “Alright, this is too much. Jenna I’m tapping you out, give me the comb.”

“What?” Nandor asked, stopping abruptly in his tracks and then being assaulted by the human Jenna running into his back. He hissed over his shoulder at the girl, who cringed. She was sweaty and out of breath for some reason, and it was quite off-putting.

“Stop it Nandor,” Guillermo said, in a tone which was far too much like a command, rather than the plea it should properly be. He rose from the bed and extricated the comb from Jenna’s fingers, waving her away to do familiar things or something. “Sit down,” Guillermo requested, a little less insubordinately but not nearly humble enough for Nandor’s satisfaction. “I’m not going to chase you while you sprint around the room working yourself into hysteria.”

“That is not what I was doing,” Nandor grumbled, taking a seat because he coincidentally wanted to. Guillermo stood behind the chair and untied his topknot, running his fingers through the hairs to distribute them, and began his task. 

“So I sent that pigeon out today,” Guillermo noted. Nandor hummed, relaxing slightly into the repetitive motion of the comb pulling through his hairs. “Before I did, though, I noticed it had a band on it’s leg. You wouldn’t happen to know who put it there, would you, Nandor?” Nandor ceased to hum, and promptly became very unrelaxed. The tone with which Guillermo had asked this implied he already knew Nandor to be the culprit.

“Oh, that,” Nandor forced his shoulders down and made a dismissive sniffing noise. “It is simply, eh, a little thing I thought Jessica could use, you know, for identification reasons. It is silly not to be able to tell apart your birds. What if they are intercepted and replaced by an _imposter_ bird?”

“I noticed it has a hefty protective sigil carved into it,“ Guillermo replied, apparently unmoved by the threat of bird imposters. Nandor hissed under his breath. He hadn’t expected that Guillermo would be able to figure that out, but the human had been proving himself surprisingly knowledgeable lately. He cleared his throat.

“Well... yes, that is just a bit of... insurance,” he explained, very casually and cooly. “If Jessica were to be eaten by a hawk, your family might put blames on me, thinking it is _my_ doing for them not receiving your letter. It would be very _inconveniencing_ for me.” 

“Ah,” Guillermo said, in a suspiciously smiley-sounding voice that Nandor decided he did not feel like reprimanding him for. “Of course.”


	24. Appraisal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Nandor is angry at a party.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content Warning for brief but graphic descriptions of violence including major injury to a finger. For those who may want to skip this content, bottom note has (slightly spoilery) info about how to do this as well as a brief summary of what happens. 
> 
> Content Warning also for vampires basically treating Guillermo like a sexy piece of steak.

Nandor did _not_ like the sort of parties of which this one was. The big-hall talky-talking chit-chat little-crystal-goblet politics sort. They were boring and no one ever explained how long they would be beforehand. But they were typically a bearable torture, as few vampires attempted to make chit-chats to Nandor, and so he could be getting away with lurking ominously next to a column, sipping blood and glaring at everyone who looked his way, and leaving after a few hours.

That this approach would be unfeasible on this occasion became clear the moment Nandor entered the hall and every eye went immediately to the little mortal at his side. Guillermo, to Nandor’s chagrin, had proved quite an effective attractor of vampiric attentions. It was two hours now into the event, and Nandor had not known peace once in its duration, finding himself roped into conversation after conversation. It was like an attack of buzzing gnats-- from every corner there came irritating, solicitous intrusions upon his solitude and his space. There were too many vampires staring at his human, and there were _especially_ too many vampires Nandor did not even _know_ staring at his human. 

Worst of all, Guillermo appeared to have absolutely no inkling of the danger he was in, making the chit-chats to vampires as if entirely comfortable in their company. Nandor was used to his husband’s stoic facade by now, but in this case it seemed Guillermo was outright _ignorant_ of the severity of his imperilment, as his heart was doing almost none of the galloping that it did when he was around Nandor alone. Nandor kept a firm grip on his husband’s arm, checking nervously that his tunic collar laid properly-- he’d seen several vampires craning their own necks in an effort to get a peek at Guillermo’s.

"So, Nandor,” Mikhail the Awful called, distracting Nandor from fussing with the curls at the nape of his human’s neck. Nandor grunted. “This is your little human bride, eh?"

"His little human _husband_ , actually," Guillermo replied curtly.

Mikhail raised his eyebrows and gave Nandor a pointed look.

"I'm not sure if I like his mouth,” he noted, before glancing at said mouth with a look Nandor himself did not very much like. “Well, I _like_ his mouth, but it should really be reserved for things other than backtalk." He laughed at his own joke. "You're an heir of Van Helsing, aren't you?” he asked, speaking directly to Guillermo now. 

“Yup,” Guillermo said, sounding vaguely bored.

“My how the mighty have fallen,” Mikhail observed in a breathy voice, attempting to lean in closer to Guillermo but stopping when Nandor growled pointedly. "One of your breed gave me this, you know," he continued, pointing towards a ropy scar that extended across his face.

"My great great uncle Santiago, I believe," Guillermo said.

"How is he?" Mikhail asked.

"Well, it's been a hundred and seventy-six years since then, so, dead," Guillermo replied bluntly. 

Mikhail appeared intrigued by this news, grinning. “Do you know who did the deed? I'd like to give my regards to the vampire who managed it.”

“I think it was a heart attack.”

Mikhail nodded. “Hart who? Hart the Repulsive? Hart the Ludicrous? Hart Fitzwilliam?”

“Heart the internal organ,” Guillermo deadpanned, pointing to his chest. “He was like, ninety-three.”

“Yes yes we are all very much sad that the human uncle died tragically young,” Nandor said brusquely, tiring of this conversation. “Goodbye Mikhail the Awful,” he added, turning abruptly to the side and walking away, pulling his human along next to him.

This gave him a respite of only seconds, unfortunately, before his way was blocked and he and his human descended upon by a group of unfamiliar and obviously inebriated vampires.

"Hey, so, I've never _had_ a human before. What are they like?” one of them loudly asked to Nandor, who narrowed his eyes at her in confusion. What did she mean, she had never _had_ a human? What blood did she drink then, if not of humans? Perhaps she'd only supped blood from a goblet, and never directly from a neck-- for some reason that appeared these days to be very popular a thing.

"Very warm," he supplied in a curt voice. "Noisy, sometimes. There's a lot of squirming and thrashing and pleading for mercy in the beginning, before they go limp and submit."

"Sounds sort of like feeding," another vampire in the group said, and several of the vampires began laughing for no apparent reason.

Nandor furrowed his brow, now even more puzzled-- of course it sounded like feeding, he was describing feeding exactly. Did they expect that Nandor would not be able to describe so fundamental a vampiric experience? He noted that the vampires who were not distracted with laughing were staring at Guillermo, and when Nandor glanced to him he could see the mortal's face was flushed full of blood.

“You must stop reacting like that, human,” he muttered aside to Guillermo, “you are already far too tempting.”

Guillermo did not cease flushing as ordered-- if anything he became even redder, heartbeat speeding. Nandor frowned and turned them around, forgoing even a perfunctory farewell, only to come face to face with his least favorite vampire.

“Nandor!” Simon the Devious exclaimed, greeting him so jubilantly that one would think they were blood brothers. “At long last I’ve managed to catch you and your _darling_ little human pet unaccompanied.” Simon moved closer, arms outstretched as if to embrace the both of them, and Nandor bore his teeth in a vicious snarl. Simon chuckled and took a step back, ducking his head and raising his hands in a gesture of supplication. “Alright, alright. Down boy,” he drawled, then glanced at Guillermo and raised his voice. “Good to see you again, mortal. How has married life been treating you?”

“It’s... new,” Guillermo replied levely.

“We’ve all been so very curious to see how you’ve been faring, you know. Nandor has certainly kept you cosseted up tight, but I dare say anyone can understand why. You’re quite the irresistible little snack, aren’t you?" Simon cooed, reaching out with pinching fingers towards Guillermo’s cheek.

Nandor hissed sharply, and Simon retracted his hand with a little laugh.

"Like a dog with a bone this one,” Simon said aside to a vampire Nandor did not recognize. “But who can blame him? I mean, look at the _meat_ on that bone. Ah, but I’m being rude,” Simon gestured towards the unfamiliar vampire. “Nandor, this fine fellow I have here is Grendel, he’s from the New North Revenant Republic.” 

Nandor scrutinized this _Grendel_. He had beady yellow eyes and long, lowset ears that extended to a point. He was wearing jointed armor on his forefinger which concluded in a sharpened talonpoint and which looked _very_ tacky and not at all cool. Grendel glanced Nandor’s way briefly-- but it was obvious that, like most party guests, he was far more interested in Guillermo. He smiled, revealing centered fangs which looked silly and also uncool and ugly.

“Grendel has been looking forward to appraising your human,” Simon said, herding said vampire closer with an arm around his shoulders. “I had worried the mortal would dissapoint-- not having seen him since the wedding, I could only regale Grendel with how delectable he’d looked _before_ you’d started fucking him,” Simon continued with a leer, his words provoking a split-second grimace from Guillermo. Nandor bristled, pulling his husband closer to his side. “But it seems as if he’s hardly depreciated at all! At least from my perspective. Grendel, what’s your professional assessment?”

“Loss of virginity is a huge hit to value for _average_ humans, but slayers are a whole different game, especially ones with a proven bloodline,” Grendel said, openly ogling Nandor’s human head to toe. “Pricing them is more about pedigree and reputation-- plus, as delicious as they supposedly are, buyers typically want to play with them as well as drink from them.” He raised his armored finger towards Guillermo’s face. Nandor bore his teeth and began growling low in his throat in warning, staring daggers at Grendel, but the other vampire ignored him as if transfixed.

Guillermo did not flinch at the approach of the hand, but kept his head steady, meeting Grendel’s eyes with the same false valor as he showed to Nandor. He continued to stare defiantly even as the talon traced down the side of his cheek, Grendel ever so subtly biting his lip.

“You know, I myself have never gotten the chance to _personally_ sample slayer blood before,” Grendel noted, putting the slightest amount of pressure on the tip of the metal talon which rested against the soft flesh of Guillermo’s cheek, threatening to pierce the membrane of his skin with the sharpened implement.

He did not follow through with the threat, however-- probably because Nandor quickly rendered such an action unfeasible by pushing the other vampire away from his human. 

And also, probably, because Nandor was then pinning him to the ground-- one hand occupied with twisting Grendel’s arm until he felt the satisfying splintering of bone under flesh, the other grasping Grendel’s face in a crushing grip and methodically smashing the back of his skull against the carpeted floor.

“Nandor!” he heard his human call through the roar of blood in his ears. Nandor stopped thrashing Grendel’s head and looked back at Guillermo. Or, tried to look back at Guillermo. His view was being blocked by several guards tugging at his arms in futile effort to pull him off the other vampire. Annoyed, he stood and shrugged them off.

He opened his mouth to reply to Guillermo, only to find something solid and pointy impeding his words. He reached between his lips and fished out the blockage, which turned out to be Grendel’s forefinger, still sheathed in the silly decorative cuff. He vaguely remembered the feeling of biting down at the root of the digit, the resonant popping sensation against his teeth as the bone was uncoupled from it’s cartilage socket, the spurt of dark blood that gushed from the stump and splattered across his face. He grimaced in disgust. He must have done that at some point between the shoving and the twisting. He tossed the digit in Grendel’s general direction and strode back towards Guillermo, coming to a stop when their chests were almost touching, looking down at the human’s face. He scrutinized the spot where Grendel had pressed his talon, pleased when he determined it hadn’t left a mark, and covered it gently with a gloved fingertip. When he drew the digit away it left an imprint in Grendel’s blood, which irked Nandor. The human’s heart was beating _very_ hard now.

“Come,” he ordered, dropping his hand from Guillermo’s cheek to grasp the back of his neck, and by this point of leverage turning and guiding him towards one of the hall’s many exits. He walked down the corridor for some time until he picked a door at random, which he promptly herded Guillermo through, closing it firmly behind them. He snapped his fingers, and every candle in the room flared to life at once. He grimaced. _Too much light_. He flicked his fingers towards a few of the more obnoxious flames and they extinguished themselves. _Better_. “Mortal,” he spoke in a rasping whisper, turning the human around to face him. He paused for a moment, struck by the darkness of the human’s eyes in the candlelight, his slightly parted lips, before speaking: “Do I have blood on my face?”

Guillermo looked at him with an expression that was confused and almost irritated, which was very rude considering the human well knew he could not use a mirror to check such things.

“Yeah, like all over,” he answered, gesturing across his own face to indicate the pattern of splatter.

“Eugh,” Nandor said, grimacing. He became aware of how tightly he was holding his human’s upper arms, released his grip self-consciously. “I _knew_ that this would be a bad idea,” he growled to himself, raising his head and glaring in the general direction of the hall. “ _Fucking_ Simon the Devious.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To avoid graphic violence skip three paragraphs, starting with the one that starts “And also, probably, because Nandor was.” You can resume reading on the paragraph that begins with “ “Come,” he ordered,” 
> 
> What happens: Nandor attacks someone, bites off their finger and inflicts major injuries to their arm and head. He stops when Guillermo calls his name and then walks over to Guillermo.


	25. Insights

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Guillermo dispenses and collects information.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey y'all just a heads up that I might switch my update days to Monday going forward, just because it works out with my life/work schedule better at the moment. So you can tentatively expect next chapter on Monday.

Guillermo watched as Nandor turned from him and strode towards one side of the room, then doubled back the length of the room to the opposite wall, then completed the circuit by halting in front of Guillermo and swiveling to face him once more. 

“Do you think that he was like, some kind of an important guy or something?” the vampire asked, voice tinged with uncharacteristic uncertainty, his lip drawing upwards into an uneasy grimace. 

“Who, Simon?” Guillermo asked, dearly hoping that Nandor at least knew the chief negotiator of Daptes was, in fact, widely considered an 'important guy.'

“No, the other guy!” the vampire said, gesturing vaguely in the direction of the hall. It took Guillermo a moment to realize who he was referring to.

“Grendel?” he asked, raising an incredulous eyebrow. Nandor nodded and frowned, his eyebrows coming together in a line of concern, wringing his hands like a supplicant. Guillermo scoffed, shaking his head and waving his hand dismissively. “No. He’s a small-time player in the New North Revenant Republic slave trade, here for gladhanding and to pass information on to his superiors afterwards. He’s connected to one or two important figures, but only because he answers to them. On the grand political scale he’s a nobody, and I'm pretty sure you didn’t even kill him.” 

Nandor tilted his head, narrowing his eyes and considering this information for a moment.

“You are _certain_ of this, mortal?” he asked.

“Absolutely,” Guillermo nodded. “Especially once you take into account that Simon was obviously trying to make something like this happen-- in all likelihood as some kind of power play between him and Grendel’s superiors, or a message to the New North in general. I mean, there’s still a chance that Simon might also intend to use it against you,” he noted as an aside, “but I doubt it. He would have picked a bigger target if his objective was to cause you real problems, and given how badly he underestimates you he probably wouldn’t bother to invest in this level of machination. You gave Grendel his finger back, right?” 

“Basically,” Nandor said, the tension in the set of his shoulders easing somewhat despite the lingering misgivings audible in his voice. 

“It’ll be _fine_ then,” Guillermo reassured his husband with a soft smile, putting his hand forward slowly, cautiously, to rest against the fabric of his cape where it draped over his upper arm. He half expected Nandor to jerk away, but the vampire remained in place, looking his hand over as if trying to work out if a spider crawling on him was venomous or not. Well, it was something. “You probably won’t even have to apologise. Most likely the Empress will just ask you to sign your name to a letter expressing vague ‘regrets’ for what happened.”

Nandor lifted his gaze from the back of Guillermo's hand, looking him over with a distinct air of wary fascination, almost as if seeing him for the first time. He hummed in contemplation

“I suppose that, being a scholarly sort of slayer, you have perhaps studied these matters carefully enough to become capable ofinsight into the realm of vampiric politics,” Nandor allowed. Guillermo wondered if the vampire thought that was a compliment. Given that Nandor seemed to be coming from an initial impression of Guillermo as utterly useless, he supposed he must.

“Thanks,” he replied only somewhat sardonically, removing his hand rather than push his luck much longer.

Nandor’s eyes trailed away from his face as he spent a moment in silent contemplation. He appeared to come to a decision, his hands curling into fists and his chin rising.

"I hoped that it would not come to this," he intoned ominously, visibly bracing himself before reaching into the inner pocket of his cape. He retrieved a small waxcloth bundle lashed closed with twine, which he held out gingerly for Guillermo to take. Guillermo did so, unwrapping the fabric to reveal a capped canister. He looked the vessel over-- it was made of tin, and there was no outward indication of what it contained.

"And this is...?" Guillermo prompted.

"It is a mineral which is called _salt_ , mortal,” Nandor said with an air of gravity that was slightly impeded by the fact that he was hastily wiping his gloves off on his tunic. “I will explain to you how you may use it to construct a protective barrier around yourself."

Guillermo rolled his eyes. "I don't need you to teach me how to make a warding circle, I'm not a five year old.”

“Now is not the time for posturing, mortal,” Nandor chided. Guillermo made eye contact with the vampire, took two steps back, flicked the cap off the salt, and proceeded to draw an advanced warding circle around himself with practiced efficiency. Nandor squinted at it. "Hmmp, well, I suppose your family taught you _something_."

"Again, Nandor, I have killed literally _hundreds_ of vampires," Guillermo said.

"Yes yes of course you have," Nandor replied in a dismissive, placating tone. "Now heed my word, mortal. I will return to the hall and _you_ will remain _here_ within this circle until I retrieve you,” he explained, pointing to the human’s feet.

Guillermo stared at his husband in disbelief. He’d assumed that Nandor had wanted him to draw a warding circle out of concern that high tension and lingering adrenaline could compromise the vampire’s self control and lead him to attempt to bite Guillermo. Not because Nandor was planning to leave him in some random room like an ill behaved dog during a house party. Everything _else_ aside, a salt circle could hardly be expected to provide sufficient protection for a lone human in an isolated chamber in a temple full of vampires. The wards he’d drawn would protect a mortal from being bitten or clawed, and from all but the strongest hypnosis, but they would do nothing for projectiles or wielded weapons. It would be one thing if Nandor had decided to leave him with this paltry defense because he knew Guillermo could fend for himself, but the vampire was constantly reminding him that he thought his husband was roughly as vulnerable as a day old kitten.

“Nandor, do you remember the last time you tried to lock me in somewhere?” Guillermo hinted.

Nandor grimaced. “Yes, I remember that I did it to protect you for your own good and then you made a big calamity about it. But you absolutely _cannot_ do such a thing this time,” he declared, waggling his finger. "You must stay _here_ and be a _good_ human mortal. I will return as soon as possible so that we may leave."

"...You know,” Guillermo grumbled, “if you rush back now, they're going to think you finish pretty quickly."

"Finish _what_?" Nandor asked in a tone of confused exasperation that suggested he actually had no idea that everyone in the hall (including Guillermo, just a tiny bit, in the horniest and least sensible portion of his brain) had been under the impression that the vampire had dragged Guillermo out of the party and into a private room specifically to ravish him.

"Nothing," Guillermo droned.

"Unbelievable!” Nandor exclaimed, throwing his hands upwards in exasperation and then turning to leave, halting just in front of the entranceway to toss one final command over his shoulder. "Do _not_ , under any circumstances, disrupt that circle." With that he left, closing the door firmly behind him.

He hadn’t even cleaned Grendel’s blood off of his face first.

 _Well,_ Guillermo thought, _might as well collect intelligence while I’m here_. He looked around the chambers, quickly identifying them as some sort of study or cabinet room, and fairly well appointed at that. He stepped carefully over the boundary of the warding circle, picking up a lit candlestick and bringing it over to the writing desk in the corner. The cover had been locked closed, but the mechanism was flimsy, made for privacy more so than security. Guillermo retrieved his folding knife from the breast of his doublet, prying the tip of the blade into the gap and with it coaxing the bolt back into its casing. He pulled back the cover and began methodically searching the small drawers and cubby holes. 

It had become apparent fairly quickly to Guillermo why he’d been brought to the gathering. Many of the guests were leaders and delegates from other, less established vampire nations. Nations that would have a lot to gain from the knowledge that Daptes was struggling with its blood supply, especially if they could hasten the empire’s collapse by provocation and sabotage. Hence why the party had been catered by (and with) a great number of prisoners, some of whom appeared to have been hypnotized to play the role of familiars. Daptes’ ruling class wanted to give the impression that their nation was as prosperous and well fed as ever, and had no problem at all procuring humans of healthy stock. Guillermo was doubtless meant to serve as additional evidence, suggesting Daptes was so resplendently rich with sources of blood that they even kept humans as purely decorative pets.

Of course, Nandor’s covetous behavior had probably done nothing to support the impression that Guillermo was an unremarkable accessory. Nandor had been driving him insane since the moment they arrived: subjecting him to constant, possessive caresses to his neck and his hair, his arm and his wrist; to torrents of guttural growls which reverberated through his chest. Not to mention the lewd comments and questions from other guests which Nandor either ignored or played along with, which was mostly humiliating because Guillermo was so painfully aware of the reality that Nandor was intensely repulsed by him. 

There was nothing useful in the letters he found stowed in the writing desk, only idle gossip, but he’d found a promising book stowed in one of the cubbies. Its title page proclaimed it to be _“A Complete Compendium of All Members of The Ruling Classes of The Unholy Revenant Nation of Daptes, with Addition of Otherwise Prominent and Notable Figures-- Including Their Official Titles and Forms of Proper Address, House Membership, and Residence.”_ He flipped through the slim volume until he found the entry for the Chief Blood Supply Overseer, and more importantly the location within the Temple out of which they worked. Guillermo wondered briefly if he could get away with sneaking over right that moment, but if Nandor came back and found him gone there was no telling how he'd react-- or who he'd explode on. Judging it better to remain in place for now, Guillermo memorized the room number and returned the book to its original position before shutting the desk’s lid. He picked up his candlestick and began to examine the room for possible hiding place for a cache of documents.

"Oh Laszlo!" a sultry, laughing voice sounded from the hall as Guillermo studied the chamber’s fireplace for loose bricks. He looked up in time to see the door open, two bodies dressed in dark broacade intertwined against it, the pair turning into the room as if performing an erotic waltz. _Did he not even lock the door?_ Guillermo thought with a fresh burst of irritation towards his husband as the couple stumbled and caressed their way over to the nearest piece of furniture with a flat surface-- which in this case was a card table which Guillermo doubted would be sufficiently sturdy to withstand the activities they had planned.

Guillermo watched as the vampire he recognized as Laszlo Cravensworth hoisted the woman-- most likely Nadja, a fellow member of Baron Afanas’ court-- atop the table. She hiked her skirts to her navel, giggling and moaning as she wrapped her legs around Laszlo's hips. Guillermo felt a hot flare of envy knowing that _they_ were getting to enjoy a fun midparty tryst.

"Oh!" the female vampire who might be Nadja suddenly exclaimed, eyes widening over Laszlo's shoulders, her mouth forming a circle of surprise. 

"Oh _yes_ ," Laszlo replied with a low and nasal sort of chuckle, evidently ascribing her reaction to whatever it was he was currently doing between her legs.

"Laszlo stop it," she hissed, smacking him on the side of the arm and then pointing overtop his shoulder towards Guillermo. "It's Nandor's little dumpling boy!"

Guillermo asked himself bitterly if it was really too much to ask that vampires refer to him by his own name.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shoutout to poppy_plant for pointing out Guillermo could probably _feel_ Nandor growling the whole time, something I am ashamed to admit I had not considered but absolutely HAD to retrofit into this chapter.


	26. Deviation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Guillermo strays.

"So it _is_ my darkest darling," Laszlo said, following the gesture of the vampire whose legs were currently wrapped around his hips. "But whatever is he doing _here_ , and where is the big buffoon himself?" he wondered, glancing around the room.

"Nandor went back to the party,” Guillermo explained, tucking his hands into the pockets of his breeches, fingertips brushing against the stakes stashed there. “I take it you missed all the action?”

For a moment the pair seemed taken aback by the fact that he could even speak, but they quickly recovered their composure, eyes glittering in the candlelight as impish smiles overtook their faces.

"I think you'll find we make our own action, boy," Laszlo drawled, not even bothering to be subtle in the way he sized Guillermo up, his eyes wandering up and down his body with obvious appreciation. The other vampire smacked his arm.

"Introduce me you clod," she hissed.

"Ah, yes, have you met Nadja, my dear lady wife?" Laszlo asked, gesturing theatrically towards his trysting partner, who smiled broadly and shimmied her shoulders in a preening, beckoning manner.

"I haven't had the privilege, no," Guillermo answered. He bowed slightly towards the woman now confirmed to be Nadja of House Afanas.

"Nadja this is, eh,” Laszlo visibly struggled to recall the human’s name. “Gizmo or Gigi or George or something like that," he concluded.

"Guillermo," Guillermo supplied.

"Gwylerckmo," Laszlo butchered proudly. "Exactly."

"You are quite a tasty looking little melomakarona you know,” Nadja noted, performing her own licentious assessment of his frame through heavy lidded eyes. “Even if you aren't a virgin anymore,” she added, with a mournful sigh. Guillermo thinned his lips and fought against the urge to complain that he was still, in fact, a virgin.

"Yes, and on that topic-- how _was_ the big fellow, by the by?” Laszlo asked. “I've always wanted to know what he was like in the privacy of the _boudoir_."

 _You and me both,_ Guillermo thought bitterly to himself.

"Yes, and _is_ he, in fact, a big fellow?” Nadja interjected before Guillermo could reply. "The way he struts around in that dildo suit of his whenever he deigns to attend an orgy, it _screams_ overcompensation. Not that one can judge a craftsman by only his tools-- after all, Laszlo has an absolutely _necrotic_ penis and he does quite well for himself,” she remarked proudly, patting her husband on the side of the cheek. 

“I most certainly do,” Laszlo said, smirking and raising his eyebrows.

“Not to mention the Baron,” Nadja added in a tone of breathy longing, biting her lip with a muffled moan.

“Oh _yes_ ,” Laszlo agreed, chuckling as he gazed intently into his wife’s eyes. Nadja giggled. Laszlo purred. Nadja growled. The pair continued making erotic and vaguely animalistic noises back and forth, nipping at one another’s faces with escalating ferocity and volume, apparently having forgotten Guillermo’s presence. This was more than fine by the human, who needed a moment anyway just to process the revelation that Nandor apparently owned a _dildo suit_ which he regularly wore to _orgies_. In light of this discovery, his tentative theory that his husband might be repulsed by sex with him because he was just repulsed by sex in general was looking far less promising. (He tried to focus optimistically on the fact that this was a good sign towards future sex being not impossible, not on the disheartening confirmation that Nandor’s aversion to Guillermo was personal.) 

Laszlo's mouth was currently latched to the swell of Nadja's cleavage, the woman emitting a series of deep and increasingly elaborate moans. Guillermo wondered if the vampires were distracted enough for him to just resume his reconnaissance while they diddled each other-- he glanced surreptitiously towards the figurine-laden fireplace mantle.

"Uuuhuhmmwait, Laszlo, the dumpling boy," he heard Nadja groan, and in reply to a muffed protest from Laszlo tsk sharply. "We can do _this_ any time my darling," she noted with a little wiggle of her hip, "but _that,_ ” she purred, pointing at Guillermo with a pale, willowy finger, “is a limited opportunity."

Guillermo kind of hated that he was pleased that she hadn't forgotten his existence entirely, despite still calling him ‘the dumpling boy.’

"Mhnmg, right," Laszlo acquiesced, removing himself from Nadja’s breast and snorting slightly before casting an impatient look towards Guillermo. "Well, out with it boy, how was it?"

“The wedding night was…" Guillermo thinned his lips, considering his words carefully, "disappointing," he concluded. This was, after all, the truth. If it lead the pair to make the obvious (though inaccurate) inference as to what exactly he was disappointed by, well, it wasn’t Guillermo’s fault. If Nandor had wanted Guillermo to protect his reputation in bed then maybe the vampire should have given him something to compliment him on.

Guillermo had expected the couple to snicker together at Nandor’s expense, to probe for more details or crow about how they suspected at much. He was a bit thrown when, rather than giggle or smirk, they instead raised their eyebrows and looked at each other silently, eyes flickering in mute conversation. Then, with eerily perfect synchronicity, they turned their gazes back on Guillermo, and their dark eyes held a sultry, penetrating intensity that made the lascivious looks he had been subjected to all night look like the shy flirtations of preteens glancing coyly at each other from across church pews.

_Oh._

"We are so so so very _sorry_ to hear that, little one," Nadja cooed with a pout, her voice laden with a syrupy, cloying sort of pity. She smoothed down her skirt and slid off of the table with all the slinking sleekness of a silk chemise dropping into a pile around slender ankles. She took her husband’s arm and the pair began inching gradually closer to him. A small part of Guillermo’s brain nagged at him that, to be safe, he really should make a break for the warding circle. Laszlo might be a known coward and blowhard, but Guillermo didn’t have enough data on Nadja to assess the risk she posed-- and being mates it was not unlikely that they had learned how to fight as a unit and compensate for each others weaknesses in battle, if it came to that. But most of Guillermo’s brain, and every other part of his body, wanted to see if this was going where he thought this was going. He took his hands from his pockets slowly, taking a mental inventory of the weapons hidden on his person and adjusting his basic stance to something with more versatile potential, but he did not back away, nor sever his gaze from that of the vampires approaching more boldly now.

"Yes, Nandor really is a right shithead to neglect a fine little morsel as yourself," Laszlo said. “And he left you all alone, in this boring cavern of a room?”

Guillermo pursed his lips. He could still make a run for the salt circle and, with enough diversion, make it inside before even vampiric speed could stop him. Instead he remained in place, shrugged and nodded silently.

“Poor little melomakarona,“ Nadja cooed with unnecessary but nonetheless rather attractive breathiness, turning her head towards Laszlo. “We _must_ show the poor darling some hospitality, do you not think, Laszlo?”

“Yes indeed, we would hate for him to judge all vampires by Nandor’s measure,” Laszlo confirmed, his intense stare fixed to Guillermo. “Some of us _do_ know how to show a human a good time.” 

Guillermo kept his feet planted as the pair breached his personal space, all half-lidded eyes and glossy black hair and elegant fangs between parted lips. They separated abruptly and began circling him in turns like elegant buzzards. Their predacious eyes roved over his body in a way that was, admittedly, very much working for him. Their circles became tighter and tighter until they were practically wrapped around him like ribbons around a maypole.

Nadja was the first to actually touch him, pressing her chest up against his and laying her hands heavily against the breast of his doublet, trailing her fingertips over the underlying curve of his collarbone. Laszlo’s hands slid around his waist from behind, and Guillermo felt the rather unmistakable pressure of an erection nudging his lower back. Guillermo’s breath hitched abruptly, and the vampire made a grunting sound of satisfaction behind his ear.

 _You’re married,_ Guillermo reminded himself with a pang of guilt. _The marriage contract you signed had a specific provision noting sexual infidelity cannot be used as grounds for separation_ , another, hornier part of his brain pointed out. But that was just so Nandor could keep attending orgies in a dildo suit. And also so Simon could try to creep him out by implying Nandor would lend Guillermo out to other vampires once he got bored of him. _And now it’s a loophole you can use to fuck Laszlo and Nadja_.

“How about it little dumpling,” Nadja coaxed, “you’d like to have a good time with some vampires?” She let out a breathy little chuckle, bit her lip in a manner that showcased her fangs immaculately, and began sliding to her knees. He felt Laszlo step away from behind him, hands leaving his hips.

Guillermo heard the faint creak of a doorknob turning and made a split second decision, quickly ducking down and then propelling his body to the side at an upwards angle, leading with his shoulder. (When pitted up against supernatural speed, a mortal had to start countering their opponents moves before they’d made them.)

His foresight paid off, his shoulder slamming hard into Nandor’s chest with enough force to throw off the scimitar blow hurtling towards Laszlo’s neck. The deflected swing managed to connect elsewhere, the blade clipping into Laszlo’s side, but with diminished force. A fleshwound rather than a fatal blow. With Nandor thrown temporarily off balance, Guillermo darted down and yanked his foot out from under him, sending the vampire toppling to the ground. Nandor was back on his feet a second later, but Guillermo had bought time enough for Nadja and Laszlo to recognize what was happening and dart out of immediate harm's way, transforming with an outraged shriek and a cry of "Bat!" respectively. Nandor lunged between them and Guillermo, swinging his sword in their wake with an angry roar. 

The bats screeched and flittered through the air over to a far corner of the ceiling, where they reassumed their human forms. Nadja clung to the crown molding with a hiss, catching Laszlo by the collar of his tunic when he failed to secure a similar hold. Nandor glared at the pair, his sword brandished in front of him and his face distorted in a snarl.

“What the _shit_ , you rabid donkey!?” Nadja demanded. “You almost cut Laszlo’s bloody head off!” 

"Yes, what the fuck _was_ that? This was my best damned doublet, I shall have you know!" Laszlo complained.

Nandor hissed and snapped his fangs in reply.

" _You do not **touch** him_," he growled, his voice deep and rumbling, ferocious and bestial. " _The human is **mine**_."

“We weren’t going to drain him," Nadja protested, "we were just going to do a little hanky pankies!” 

“We haven’t had decent human fuck in decades!” Laszlo added.

" _You. Do. Not. **TOUCH!** HIM!"_ Nandor roared, the figurines displayed on the mantle shivering from the force of his voice. The sound of porcelain clattering against marble rang through the air in the wake of his words.

"Augh! If you are going to keep the fucking of him to yourself, Nandor, at least do a good job of it, asshole!" Nadja spat. She and Laszlo transformed and fled the room through the open doorway. Nandor mirrored their movements defensively, circling around Guillermo so that he remained between the human and the other vampires, his sword brandished and his fangs bared.


	27. Fallout

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Nandor struggles with the matter at hand.

Nandor lowered his weapon only when he was certain the wretched pair of perverts had actually dispersed, and were not simply lurking just out of sight. He straightened his stance and turned to his husband, moving immediately towards him and pressing trembling hands to his face, frantically studying his eyes for evidence of hypnosis. None was evident, so he began touching Guillermo’s neck and shoulders, prodding skin and tugging aside fabric with frantic fingers in search of inflicted damage. When he confirmed his human’s neck to be intact he took one of the human’s hand by the wrist, pulling it to his face and inspecting it methodically from wrist to fingertip, then repeating his investigation on the other hand.

“-andor, breathe,” Guillermo’s voice said, distantly, as if he’d murmured the words in his sleep. Guillermo pressed a hand to the center of Nandor’s chest, and the vampire startled, abruptly aware that his ribcage was heaving quite vigorously considering he’d engaged in only minor exertion in dispersing the perverts. “Breathe with me, Nandor,” Guillermo suggested.

“I don’t-” Nandor began, but found his words cutting off as the air withered in his lungs. He gasped hoarsely, to little avail, “have to-” he drew in another lungful of air, frustrated now, “vampires do not-”

“Just humor me,” Guillermo pleaded. “Please. I’ll feel better if you do it with me.” Nandor clenched his jaw and attempted to focus. With his own blood roaring deafeningly in his ears he could only guess at how terrified the human must be. If pretending vampires needed to breathe would keep the little mortal from going into a panic, Nandor would do it. Nandor reached towards his chest, covering the human’s hand with his own and squeezing it tightly. “Okay, we’re going to take slow, deep breaths,” Guillermo said, proceeding to outline some silly human counting and breathing ritual.

Nandor placated his husband by following along with his instructions, which seemed to please and reassure the mortal. The ritual went on for several repetitions before Guillermo allowed it to come to a close.

“Now, d-”

“What is _wrong_ with you, mortal?" Nandor blurted out in helpless frustration, his voice rasping. Guillermo pulled away, and Nandor cursed himself and the mortal both. He was encased in a whirlwind of emotion-- a sandstorm like ten thousand tiny lashes scraping and scratching away at the surface of his flesh until his skin was raw and weeping blood. He had been already driven to the edge of madness by the lechery of other vampires and Simon’s groping attempts and the scuffle with Grendel. He had left the mortal wanting nothing more than to bring the evening to a close and then escort Guillermo back to the safety of his home. 

And then he had returned to find his husband being molested by the very perverts who'd been scheming to claim him since before Nandor had even set eyes upon his image. He had been flooded with horror and regret and guilt and rage and a frantic consuming urgency to protect the mortal. Under such duress, how could he help but come unhinged? “I _commanded_ you not to leave the salty circle,” he tried to explain, gesturing helplessly at the ring of salt a few feet away. “What were you doing outside of the circle, human? They did the hypnosis to you? They tricked you? Frightened you?” he asked. “You were not supposed to _leave_.”

Guillermo met his gaze entirely without shame, thinning his lips and narrowing his eyes. “You know, Nandor,” he said, “even an advanced warding circle doesn’t offer all that much practical protectionunder these sorts of circumstances, especially considering-"

“The perverts would not have been able to _touch_ you, had you waited within the salt!” Nandor exclaimed, throwing his hands into the air in frustration with the human’s density. Nandor had seen the way Nadja and Laszlo had been looking at his human. He had witnessed the lecherous glimmer in their eyes, how vulgarly they had touched him. “Do you not realize what could have happened, had I been delayed? What they would have _done_ with you, had I not driven them away?” 

This at least and at last managed to chasten Guillermo. He flushed and looked away, his bashfulness reminding Nandor painfully of just how sensitive and delicate his husband was, despite the indifference he affected.

“I can take a wild guess,” the human muttered. 

Nandor looked upon the mortal-- his husband, his human, his _Guillermo--_ with his dark soft hairs and his bowed lips, his canny eyes and his fallow skin suffused with blood, and Nandor wanted to _take_. Nandor wanted to seize and covet and plunder and _conquer_. He wanted to claim his husband in that very moment, in that very room, against that very mantle. To revisit the mouth that had fit so well against his own at the altar. To wash away the lingering tang of rancid blood with the taste of mortal skin. To run his fingers through Guillermo’s curling hairs and throw his carefully arranged coif into disarray. To press his fingers into plush curves and sink them between folds of ample flesh. To make the mortal gasp and cry out in carnal pleasure. To make him moan Nandor's name with such fervor that there would be no doubting who he belonged to, no doubting if he wished to belong to another. To sink fangs into the supple flesh of his shoulder and taste the blood which other vampires so coveted but was _his alone_ to savor. To feel the burn of Guillermo's virginity in his mouth, and to _extinguish_ it.

He wanted to consummate their union. He wanted to assert unquestionable claim over the mortal. He wanted to make Guillermo smell like sex and blood and _Nandor_ , and to parade his husband before other vampires in this state, disheveled and debauched with Nandor's bite on his neck, Nandor's claim to him irrefutable. 

Nandor forced these thoughts from his mind. He forced himself to swallow the outrage and the lust and the all consuming carnal jealousy. He'd sworn to Guillermo that he would not make such demands of him. _Sworn_ to him that he would be spared from violation. He'd sworn to _protect_ the mortal. Already Nandor was failing at his duty, and not only due to his own sensual hungers. Nandor had spared Guillermo from the horror of his wedding night and those of the nights thereafter-- only to leave the mortal alone and undefended here, vulnerable to be frightened out of his salty circle and trapped between two vampires, helpless as they inflicted their lechery upon him.

“I regret that I left you, human,” Nandor confessed. “And I am... sorry that you were accosted by the perverts, in small part as a result of being left by me,” he continued. 

“Why _did_ you leave, anyway? What were you even doing?” Guillermo asked, his words inflicting a pang of guilt upon Nandor. The human, despite his bravado, had surely felt abandoned by him, and perhaps not without reason.

“I had to ensure that Grendel had retrieved his finger,” Nandor explained. “You are the one who said to me that this would make things to be ‘fine’. And I needed to ask that the Empress would permit us to leave immediately. If you'd accompanied me it would have proved an interminable task, because of everyone wishing to be talking about you.” And it would also have re-exposed Guillermo to evidence of Nandor’s brutality. And also if Simon had approached them and had tried again to touch Guillermo Nandor would have ripped his head off, which probably the Empress _would_ have been unhappy about. 

“I presumed you would remain in the circle for the duration of my absence, and thus be shielded," Nandor continued. "You need to be more careful, human. You are not thinking of the consequences of your actions. You must take this as a lesson,” he advised, making his voice as gentle as he could while still imbuing it with the appropriate reprimand. “Now come, we are going home now,” he concluded, his tone reverting to more familiar brusqueness as he took the human’s arm. Guillermo gave him a look like he was considering to argue but, for once, refrained.

“So,” Guillermo began as their carriage lurched into motion, his facade of calm and courage firmly back in place now that he and Nandor were alone, “I think tonight went pretty well, all things considered.”

Nandor ripped his gaze from where it had been affixed to the bloodstains on his tunic, boggling at his human.

“The fuck are you on about, mortal?” he asked. “Are you giving me the sarcasm? This whole night was nothing but disasters atop disasters. A complete shitshow.”

Guillermo shrugged casually. “I mean, it didn't go _great_ , but it wasn’t all bad. Jim was actually kind of nice, although I think he might have thought I was a vampire. The thing with Grendel was pretty minor, and obviously Simon’s fault.” He wrinkled his face in a brief grimace. “I’ll admit that the part where you tried to kill Laszlo was a bit rough. If you’d actually managed it you probably would have gotten in trouble. But the-”

“I _would_ have managed it, had you not gotten into the way,” Nandor interjected with a grumble. He had not been happy to realize that his human’s improbable ability to clumsily place himself in the most inconveniencing possible circumstances extended to actually interfering with Nandor’s movements in the middle of a strife.

“Yeah, so, you’re welcome for that,” the human replied, unfathomably. “ _As I was saying_ , the real upside to this party was that I finally got the opportunity to see Daptes’ major political figures in action. What few records I could study about Daptes’ politics beforehand were pretty sparse, and there was basically nothing about the past half-century. It’s hard for an outsider to get information about the Empire, so the chance to observe the dynamics in play was very illuminating-- especially with regards to you.”

Nandor bristled. “And what do you suppose you have discovered about me?” he asked with haughty distain, despite harboring guilty knowledge of many unpleasant things Guillermo could have discovered in him in the past several hours.

“That most of Daptes’ leadership profoundly underestimates you,” Guillermo replied simply.

Nandor blinked. That had not been upon his list of unpleasant things.

“I mean, don't get me wrong,” the mortal continued, “most of them _are_ still scared of you, but that fear doesn't necessarily translate into respect or appropriate valuation. Simon and the Council, even the Empress to a degree, the way they act, it seems like they’ve gotten complacent. I think they’ve gotten used to sitting back and relying on you to deliver results. They’ve gotten comfortable with presuming your unending loyalty. They’ve forgotten why you’re so good at providing them victories in the first place.”

“You... think they do not remember I am strong?” Nandor asked, puzzled.

“I think they forget that being strong is only a fraction of why you’re so good at your job. You might win _fights_ because you're strong, but you win _wars_ because you’re tenacious, ruthless, and ingenious,” Guillermo said, his flattery puzzlingly delivered with a frank confidence that implied he was simply stating a basic reality of the world. Nandor squinted warily at the human across from him, confounded by whatever strange tactic of manipulation this was.

“It appears that you have many thoughts about vampire politics, human,” Nandor noted, “It is… unexpected.” Guillermo raised an eyebrow.

“I _am_ a slayer, Nandor, as I’ve repeatedly reminded you. Studying vampires is a big part of what we do. We try to keep tabs on prominent vampires and vampire societies so we can do our jobs efficiently. Speaking of...” Guillermo paused for a moment, seeming to consider something intently, before he sighed and spoke: “Nandor, we _really_ need to talk about what’s going on with Daptes’ food supply.”

“Food supply?” Nandor echoed. “You mean the farm thing? The human food?” Where had this come from all of the sudden? “Has that not been settled?”

“I’m not talking about human food-- or, at least, I’m not _just_ talking about human food,” Guillermo said, leaning forward in his seat and resting his elbows upon his knees. “I’m also talking about human _blood_.”


	28. Interiors

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Guillermo is rebuked.

“What _about_ human blood?” Nandor asked, crinkling his nose and pulling his lips upwards into a sneer, the expression etching cracks into the dark streak of drying blood painted across his face. 

“Daptes is running out of it,” Guillermo replied, deciding to cut directly to the heart of the matter.

Nandor shot him an incredulous look. “What are you talking about?”

“The fact that you guys don’t have enough humans, or at least not enough _healthy_ humans, to feed yourselves,” Guillermo elaborated. 

“I do not know what it is you are saying, human,” Nandor replied primly, shifting his attentions to picking at a thread which had come loose from the intricate embroidery on his tunic. Guillermo reflected, with a flicker of chagrin, that tonight was the first time he’d seen his husband wearing anything less fortified than plate armor. “Where did you get these ideas from? Who told you there is such a problem? Whoever it is they are _lying_ and should have their tongue cut out. You should tell me who they are. I have scissors specifically for the tongue cutting out, you know.”

Guillermo slipped his hands under his spectacles and pinched the bridge of his nose, not at all in the mood to dance around the point at this junction.

"Nandor, don't do this,” he groaned, “I know vampires would rather swallow a crucifix than admit to a human that they’re less than flawless, but this is serious,” he stressed. “I already know about the blood supply problem, so there’s no point in denying it exists. And the sooner you tell me just how big a problem it is, the sooner I can help you to fix it.”

“Even if there _was_ such a problem, how would _you_ expect to fix it, human? You do not know anything about being a vampire,” Nandor asserted, crossing his arms and looking pointedly out of the carriage window in order to signal that he considered this conversation over. _Alright, time to try another tact._

“Nandor, you remember the story we talked about? The one with Mr. Owl and Mr. Mouse?” Guillermo prompted. Nandor kept his eyes to the glass, but also squinted, frowning ever so slightly as he visibly searched back into his memories.

“...Yes, I remember the silly animal story you told,” he allowed with an air of deep suspicion, gaze flickering to the side to meet Guillermo’s for just a moment before returning to the window. “This is the one where Mr. Owl is the most strongest owl, much similarly to how I am the most strongest vampire.”

“Right. So, lets imagine that the owls have a problem with their mouse supply. Maybe there’s not enough mice to go around for all the owls,” Guillermo began. “Maybe there are plenty of mice, but they’re not good to eat because they’re all getting sick. Maybe the problem is something else. Whatever’s going on, none of the owls have been able to solve the mouse supply problem themselves. So Mr. Owl, who understands that Mr. Mouse knows better than he does when it comes to mice-”

“I think that actually Mr. Owl does _not_ recall making any such concessions about mouse expertise,” Nandor cut in archly, still glaring out the window.

“It's true whether Mr. Owl admits it or not,” Guillermo replied, exasperated. “So, as I was-”

"Do you think I do not realize that you are using this story to manipulate me, mortal?” Nandor snapped, finally turning to face to his husband, uncrossing his arms and balling his hands into fists against his knees. “Do you think I am some manner of simp? This game can be played by two, you know. How is it that Mr. Mouse expects to survive in the kingdom of owls when he does not comply to Mr. Owl's orders? _Hm?_ If Mr. Mouse is so much a mouse expert, does it not follow that Mr. Owl therefore knows owls far better than Mr. Mouse does? Mr. Owl is the one who knows exactly how dangerous owls are, how a mice must behave in order to not be imperiled when it is amongst owls.”

Guillermo felt his eye twitch in irritation. “Well, given that _Mr. Mouse_ has studied owls his _whole life_ -”

“ _Also_ , why is it that they are Mr. Mouse and Mr. Owl?” Nandor interrupted once more. “Are they not married? They should be Mr. Owl the mouse and Mr. Owl the owl," the vampire asserted.

"Why not Mr. Mouse the mouse and Mr. Mouse the owl?" Guillermo countered, feeling contrary. Nandor scoffed and waved his hand limply in dismissal.

"Mr. Owl is not going to take Mr. Mouse's name. That would be ridiculous. Mr. Owl has a far cooler and more powerful reputation. Mr. Mouse should be _honored_ to be permitted to take his name. Do your slayer kin take the names of their non-slayer mates when they wed, mortal? Are they becoming Mr. Dirt Farmer or Ms. Textile Loom Operator? No! They are Misters and Misses Vampire Killers.”

There was a moment of silence in which Guillermo debated the merits of trying once more to forcibly steer the conversation back to the actually important topic at hand before his curiosity won out and he surrendered to this absurd derailment.

" _Please_ tell me you know my name isn't Mr. Vampire Killer."

“That is what it means, is it not?” Nandor replied. “When it is translated from your human tongue. It is not so difficult to figure out. _Dee lah_ is obviously supposed to be Dracula, except that you forgot to say some of the sounds which is very disrespectful. And a Dracula is a Vampire. _Cruz_ as in execution, but with the sounds mixed up. Execruzon. Dracula Executors, which is just a fancy way to say Vampire Killers."

"Oh my _God_ ," Guillermo muttered in something almost reminiscent of awe, promoting Nandor to hiss and recoil, the vampire pinning his body against the carriage’s upholstery backboard and clawing at the sides of his head.

"Don't sssay that _word_!" he commanded.

"Sorry. It's just, I’m,” Guillermo struggled to find words to describe the emotion being evoked in his soul by the sheer absurdity of every single aspect of this conversation. “Okay, wait, first, I _have_ to know-- what do you think Van Helsing means?"

Nandor looked at him with an expression that spoke of suspicion and unease, but he couldn't resist the opportunity to smugly explain something to a human for long. "Well, _Van_ is obviously for ‘Vanpire,’ which is how the Dutch say Vampire. _Hels_ is like when you say," he shook his fist illustratively "'Give him the hells!' And _-ing_ is for when you are doing something. So, it means a human who is giving Vampires the Hells. See, is easy to figure out."

Guillermo couldn't help but laugh-- first at Nandor's words and then at the expression of confusion and dejection that overtook the vampire's face.

"What?" Nandor asked in a hostile tone. "What is so funny here, mortal?"

"I mean, well, first of all,” Guillermo said, “you're wrong about Van Helsing's name. Secondly, you're _extremely_ wrong about my name. And-"

“Is this all you _**do**_ , human!?” Nandor shouted abruptly, rising to his feet in concert with his outburst. He knocked his head against the ceiling of the coach and cursed, hunched over so that he loomed over Guillermo. He held his open hands out in front of him, fingers curled towards his palms, talons grasping at air. “Is this all you will _ever_ do? Is tells me I am _wrong_? That everything I do is _wrong_? That I do not know things? That I have failed you and disappointed you? This is the only thing it seems you are _ever_ saying to me! The names is wrong! The food is wrong! The doors is wrong! The hair brushings is wrong! The mices are wrong! The salty circle is wrong! The gardens is wrong! Everything I do for you, wrong wrong wrong! You are _unpleasable!”_ he raved, the depths of his dark eyes flashing with an eerie golden glow. “Maybe you should be considering, mortal, that perhaps the one who is wrong is _you!"_ the vampire exclaimed, poking his finger squarely in the center of Guillermo’s chest.

It was at that moment that their carriage arrived at their destination, stopping with a lurch that toppled Nandor overtop Guillermo.

Guillermo barely had time to register the pressure of the vampire’s body resting against his, the scratch of bearded chin against his forehead, before both sensations disappeared entirely, his husband’s form having transmuted into that of a small bat, which flapped around the dark enclosure of the carriage with a wailing screech.

“Nandor,” Guillermo began, reaching out in an effort to capture the creature. Before he could grab him, however, the carriage door was cracked open by their driver and Nandor whipped out through the thin aperture. “Nandor!” Guillermo called. Cursing under his breath, he followed the bat, jumping down to street level in time to see a dark furry body squeezing through the latticework window atop their home’s doorway. Guillermo gave chase, only to be thwarted when he tried to open the front door and found it locked. He cursed again. 

Was Nandor _seriously_ going to leave him locked out of his house on top of everything else? Guillermo stepped back and frowned, tilting his head to scrutinize the outside of the building for potential hand and footholds, determining a route to take in case he needed to break in through the roof. Thankfully his calculations were interrupted, almost as soon as they began, by an audible click and the front door opening a crack. He pushed through only to find Nandor already well on his way down the hall.

“ _Nandor_ ,” Guillermo whispered harshly, not wanting to risk drawing Jenna over while the vampire was in such a state of agitation, “listen, I’m sorry I hurt your pride by introducing you to the fact that you’re actually not perfect at _everything_ , but we have an _actual_ problem to work out here.”

Nandor did not give him even so much as a grunt, continuing to sweep through the house in silence. Guillermo followed in his husband’s shadow, determined not to be shaken off so easily. He was about to speak again when he heard a yelp ring out, a pitched sound like a dog whose tail fell underfoot, and Nandor hissed and stopped in his tracks. 

"W- what happened?" he heard Jenna ask, "Where's-" Guillermo moved past Nandor, concerned at the sharp trembling terror in her voice, and she met his gaze with watery eyes and a face devoid of the healthy flush it had just barely begun to gain. "Guillermo!" she exclaimed, immediately rushing towards him and enveloping him in a tight, clinging embrace. "Thank jeebus! When I saw the blood on him, and, and I didn't see you, I thought, I thought-!" She sobbed, burying her face into his neck. Guillermo rubbed her back gently.

"I'm fine Jenna. Takes more than a boring mixer to kill me," he joked as he soothed her. He glanced up at Nandor. The vampire was staring at the both of them, eyes rounded and lips peeled back in a grimacing scowl. Probably outraged by Jenna's behavior, or perhaps just disgusted by the sight of humans hugging. Guillermo glared at the vampire before he could think about opening his mouth to reprimand the girl, mouthing 'don't you dare' over her shoulder. Nandor winced and hiked his shoulders up to his ears.

"You should cleanse yourself and go to bed now, human," the vampire suggested frostily. "I have knives that need sharpening. Familiar Jenna," he called, and the familiar jolted, jerking away from Guillermo and turning to stare at her Master in horror and apprehension. Guillermo's glare became incinerous as he placed a hand into his pocket and around the smooth end of a stake. "I will not require you to prepare me for coffin today," Nandor continued, to Jenna's visible relief. "You may retire to your den once you have completed your work."

"Th- thank you Master," Jenna said, bowing deeply. Nandor grunted, scrutinizing the girl and then meeting Guillermo's eyes for a fleeting moment before turning around in a flutter of heavy fabric and marching down the hall.


	29. Reckoning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Nandor goes to a meeting.

Nandor laid in his coffin and awaited for his human to leave his crypt. The human had long since stopped doing the deep slow breathing of human sleep and started doing the lighter shallower breathing of human awakedness, yet he had not vacated the chamber. The little familiar had first scurried to the doorway and beckoned him to begin the human eating ritual with her at least an hour ago, yet he had declined, and told her to return later, and remained sitting in his bed. Thrice now the familiar had returned to beckon him downstairs and thrice she had been refused.

Nandor was now becoming certain that Guillermo was attempting to wait him out. The human supposed that by remaining in the crypt, Nandor would be forced in time to rise in his presence and be subject to more criticism. But the mortal was foolish to make such an attempt. Nandor had lain siege to cities for weeks. _Months_ , even. Nandor would endure and emerge victorious from this standoff.

Surely enough, on the occasion of the fourth pestering from the increasingly hysterical sounding Jenna human, Guillermo surrendered to her pleas and agreed to accompany her to the human food preparation room. 

“You can’t keep this up forever, Nandor,” the human muttered under his breath before he departed. Nandor stuck his tongue out at the ceiling of his coffin, and by extension, Guillermo.

Nandor had gotten little sleep after their return from the party. He had avoided retiring to his crypt for some time, as he had not trusted the human to go immediately into slumber. After two hours Nandor had run out of blades to sharpen. He’d spent a third hour attempting to find commiseration with the new birdy that Guillermo had brought in. This specimen was _not_ as attentive a listener as Jessica had been-- rather he seemed distinctly uninterested in Nandor’s woes. How Jessica must suffer, forced to work alongside incompetents, bestowed with no recognition of her superior disposition. This thought recalled unwillingly into Nandor’s mind what Guillermo had said about him in the coach. What was the human getting at, claiming Nandor was not respected? Simon was impudent, of course, but he conducted himself impudently on all occasions and to all vampires alike. The rest of the council respected Nandor, surely? The _Empress_ respected him, surely.

His husband’s words could only have been deceitful meant, for if Guillermo was so much impressed with Nandor’s talents as he’d claimed, why did he then deride and mock everything the vampire attempted to offer to him? Whether it be shelter and security, provisions and succor, or wisdom and knowledge, if it came from Nandor the human seemed determined to find fault with it. Clearly his flattering words had been an attempt at manipulation, but to what _end_? He did not think he could entice Nandor to betray his Empire with a pretty face and winsome words, did he? _No_ , Nandor thought to himself, _of course not_. Guillermo was not the sort of scheming human who could harbor grand plans of sedition.

But Nandor could not afford to get lost in memories and speculation. His husband could be finishing his human kit-chen rituals at any moment. He would leave and go to the Temple of Blood Devourers, as her Unholiness had requested to meet with him. He exited his coffin and turned his attention to the bloodstained raiments still hanging from his frame. He could not arrive to take audience with the Empress in such attire. He wrested off layers of cruor splattered brocade and embroidered silk, dropping them into piles on the floor and replacing them with fresh linen, padded cotton, the familiar weight of maille armor. As soon as he’d rendered himself relatively presentable he exited his crypt, assuming the form of a bat and leaving his house through a nearby lattice window.

He met his Empress, as he’d been bid, in her throne room, coming in through a window and reassuming his human form a respectful distance from of the imperial seat of power, where her Unholiness sat chattering with Viago.

“Oh good, there you are!” Empress Tilda greeted him merrilly. “Have them brought in now,” she said aside to Viago, who bowed obsequiously and then dashed off towards the doorway. “Come come, Nandor, over here,” the Empress beckoned, gesturing for Nandor to assume her advisor’s place on the dais.

“Love that you kept the blood,” she noted aside as Nandor took his place at the side of her throne, tapping her cheek and giving him a wink, “very macabre.” Nandor touched his face in confusion, grimaced slightly when his hand came back with flakes of dried blood on the fingertips. He looked up at the sound of footsteps, immediately recognizing one of the approaching figures. _Grendel_. Nandor’s growl rumbled through his chest. He raised his hackles, glaring daggers at the vampire.

Grendel looked somewhat better than he had when Nandor had last seen him. Considering Nandor had last seen him contorted and bleeding on the floor with half his skull pounded into mince, this was not saying all that much. His head was somewhat misshapen now, flattened and lumpy and a bit concave in the back. His arm hung stiffly and awkwardly to his side-- Nandor was pleased to conclude that he had rent the limb badly enough that his joints had fused together and his bones set crooked as they healed. Hopefully Grendel would have to have his bones broken several additional times if he wished to set them correctly.

“Alrighty then,” Empress Tilda said, clapping her hands together once, the sound jarring Nandor out of his thoughts. “Shall we get started then?” 

“Right, uh,” Grendel began, looking briefly to Nandor-- who pulled his lips back from his fangs in a snarl-- and then to the Empress, before ducking his head. “I really must apologize, for my behavior, with Nandor’s human. I was… misled, about some stuff, but still, it was definitely my bad. I am very _very_ sorry for my discourtesy and my disrespect in touching the Imperial Commander's property.”

"My mate," Nandor said. Grendel lifted his misshapen head and stared at him blankly. Nandor narrowed his eyes at the other vampire, his sneer falling into a grim line. "You are very _very_ sorry for your discourteous disrespect in the touching of my _mate_ ," he said-- slowly, deliberately, his eyes like hot coals burning in the sockets of his skull. It was not, after all, as if Grendel had been careless with a familiar or a pricey bottle of blood or some ornament in his abode. Guillermo was Nandor’s husband, his _mate_. It felt quite important to Nandor that he make this matter clear, that it be marked that Grendel’s trespass was far graver than toying with some common human pet. "Specifically, for attempting to harm him," he added, for it was not only the touching of Guillermo that had brought Nandor's wrath down upon Grendel. It was that the other vampire had tried to _wound_ him, to mark him, to sample his _lifeblood_. " _This_ is what you are meaning to say to me." 

Grendel winced. “Right, I’m, I’m v- very very sorry for trying to harm your mate,” he said, bowing deeply. Another vampire, one who Nandor vaguely recognized from the party, stepped forward.

“As representatives of the New North Revenant Republic as a whole, we offer our sincerest apologies to Imperial Commander Pasha Nandor the Relentless, and to her Imperial Unholiness Empress Tilda of the Revenant Empire of Daptes, and beg forgiveness for this trespass,” she said.

There was a silence after her words in which Nandor realized that attentions had turned to him. He tensed, the low growl that had been rumbling through his chest since spotting Grendel abruptly guttering out. Was he to be expected to make apologies to Grendel and his escort as well? He was not prepared to do this. He’d believed Guillermo when he had insisted that Nandor would face no censure for his actions at the party. 

“Well, Nandor, do you accept their apologies?” the Empress prompted. Perhaps he needn’t apologise? But surely he was meant to make amends in some way. Nandor frowned, considering his words.

“The events of last night were... regrettable,” he allowed. “But so long as no further trespasses occur, the matter can be left behind us.”

“Wonderful!” the Empress exclaimed. “I think we’re done then, yes? I should hope we have _all_ learned a valuable lesson not to touch what isn’t ours,” she continued, beaming at the foreign vampires with a grin so broad that her fangs were exposed to the gum, her eyes cold. ”You are free to go,” she decreed, waving them away. Nandor watched as they were escorted out, attuned to their departing footsteps even after the door had been shut behind them. He felt a nudge against his arm, and looked down to find its source: her Unholiness’ elbow.

"Your _mate_ , eh?" she prompted playfully, raising a brow. Nandor blinked, thrown.

"...The human _is_ my mate, is he not? We were joined as such through participation in the ritual of blood binding. Even with the bit where instead of my blood it was wine, the wine was symbolically my blood, so it still counted. You were there when it happened," he noted.

"I recall, yes," Empress Tilda replied. "I was a bit worried, though, that you were already getting bored of him.”

“Bored?” Nandor echoed. If only his complaint about the human might be merely that he was _boring_. If only the human was _under_ stimulating, rather than endlessly tormenting Nandor through his tantalizing, inexplicable, vexing, contrary, entitled ways. Nandor pressed his lips together. “I am most certainly not _bored_ by him,” he said with as much diplomacy as he could muster. He recalled the last time the Empress had made coded enquiries as to his husband. “I have not eaten him, you know. Are you thinking I would eat the human if I became bored of him? I still would not eat him,” he clarified.

“Oh, no, it’s not that. I was just surprised how quickly you returned to the hall after whisking him away-- you hardly had time to do anything.” 

Her Unholiness was displeased that Nandor had left the mortal alone. Perhaps she was thinking he had done nothing to ensure his protection. He must assure her of his diligence.

“After I removed the human into the chambers he used the salt for casting a warding circle around himself,” he reported.

" _Did he?_ " her Unholiness asked, eyebrows rising. "What audacity your little pet has! I’d thought him so demure... but humans do surprise you every once in a while. I suppose you enjoy a bit of feistiness though, eh? You always did like a bit of a _challenge_ , don't you Nandor?" she teased with a wink.

"...The human has certainly done his best to pose one to me," Nandor allowed, not entirely certain what her Unholiness was meaning. “I have endeavored to set him right.”

“I’m sure you have,” Empress Tilda chuckled before leaning back against her throne, folding her hands upon her lap. “Alright then Nandor, that’s all I needed you for tonight. You may go.” 

Nandor wanted to go. Nandor should go. But there was something which had been nagging at him, something he must clarify. “Your Unholiness… before I am departing I must ask you...” he hesitated a moment before pressing on. “Is there... something lacking, with the blood supply?”

Nandor thought that perhaps Empress Tilda’s eyes sharpened then, her smile freezing in place for a flickering second, but then she laughed-- light and clear like crystals chiming against one another on a chandelier-- and shook her head blithely.

“Whyever would you ask something like _that_?” she asked. 

Nandor knew very well he could not say ‘because my human says there is’ without having many embarrassing explainings to do. He floundered for a moment.

“Well, I know that there had been, a dry spell, for some time," he mumbled.

“Perhaps you were too fixated on your mortal to take notice, Nandor, but at last night’s party we had more humans than we knew what to do with.” Empress Tilda noted. “Does that sound like a supply problem to you?” 

“No, of course not,” Nandor agreed, pleased and relieved to have the situation resolved. “But... if there _was_ something wrong, you would tell me, would you not?” he asked. “I could be of help, you know.”

“Silly _Nandor_ ,” the Empress chuckled. “Why _wouldn’t_ I tell you about something like that?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mmmm yes why _wouldn't_ you, Tilda? 👀


	30. Reconnaissance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Guillermo spends a night in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am sorry for posting so late... I wrote most of this chapter yesterday after deciding to split it off from another section last minute and it was very messy. I needed to take like half the day just to refine it to the point that I wasn't embarrassed to post it >__>

Guillermo was disappointed but not particularly surprised when he returned to the crypt after breakfast to find Nandor’s coffin conspicuously empty. The vampire had left his bloodstained formalwear behind in a series of crumpled piles on the floor, suggesting he’d changed. As Nandor seemed to avoid doing that unless he had a work meeting to attend or was otherwise unavoidably required to venture out into the public, Guillermo surmised he must have left the house. He picked up the articles of clothing, shaking them out and then folding them into a neat stack which he placed at the foot of his bed for Jenna to take care of later. He briefly considered offering to assist the familiar with the task of cleaning them before reminding himself that he’d tried helping with the laundry once before and had mostly just gotten in Jenna’s way. What Daptes’ hereditary familiars lacked in knowledge of cooking edible human food they more than made up for in expertise at getting bloodstains out of clothing. 

Guillermo ran his hand over the fabric of Nandor’s tunic and wondered idly if the vampire was planning to avoid him all night. He would have to come back by sunrise in order to sleep-- unless, that is, he had another cache of his native soil somewhere. He might very well have an alternative crypt at the Temple of Blood Devourers. But Guillermo would be hard pressed to explain why, if the vampire did have such arrangements available to him, he wasn’t sleeping there every day just to avoid his human husband as much as possible. Perhaps the vampire planned to sneak in just before dawn and then slink into his coffin as a mist. Guillermo sighed. He hoped that Nandor would get tired of this game sooner rather than later. There were things they really needed to discuss.

He might have been able to force his husband to talk to him earlier that night if it hadn’t been necessary for him to help Jenna make breakfast. Guillermo had taught the familiar enough simple dishes that she could make a fairly competent meal out of their supply of left over food by herself, but the remains from the wedding feast had recently run their course. They were currently making do with whatever hodgepodge of ingredients Guillermo could scrape together from the land and the extant backchannels for human goods-- which required a wider repertoire of recipes and techniques than Jenna currently had, as well as substantial creativity, to make healthy meals out of. They were fortunate in that cereals and dry legumes had not proven too difficult to acquire in substantial quantities, but fruits and vegetables were a mixed bag in terms of quality. Supplemented with eggs and meat harvested from the dovecote, these supplies were getting them by, but the situation was far from ideal. 

Jenna, who was used to subsisting on a daily regimen of gritty bone meal gruel, found even this food delicious-- but Guillermo was already getting sick of stale oats and broad beans and having to cut bruised and moldy parts off of almost every ingredient he used. He was slightly concerned to realize that he would almost certainly be willing to murder an innocent man in cold blood if someone offered him a basked of freshly baked and buttered bolillo rolls as payment. 

Needless to say Guillermo was verymuch looking forward to the arrival of the stock and supplies he’d beseeched his relatives to order on his behalf. 

Though he had yet to hear back from his family, he could at least rest assured that his message had arrived at their complex in a safe and timely manner, given the magical investment Nandor had made into the bird carrying it. Guillermo was still trying to wrap his head around the fact that Nandor had procured an _armor-grade_ protective enchantment to use on a _pigeon_. Especially given that the vampire had then subsequently decided that a salt circle was good enough protection for a supposedly helpless mortal in a building full of vampires, a significant proportion of whom stood to made substantial political gain from Guillermo’s assassination. (Guillermo reminded himself sternly that he was _not_ going to be jealous of a bird. It didn’t work this time either.)

 _Whatever_. Guillermo forced his thoughts away from the past and future, concentrating on the present. He might as well take advantage of Nandor’s absence to do something he’d been meaning to do any way: break into the vampire’s study.

As Nandor’s campaigns seemed to be a major contributor towards Daptes’ supply of human blood, Guillermo imagined that it would follow that the records he kept on the numbers of prisoners brought back to the capital might give the human an at least slightly better idea of how the nation was situated.

Unfortunately casing the study for records related to Daptes’ blood supply proved to be more or less a dead end. The haphazard space made it a difficult if not impossible task to even narrow down where such a ledger might be. Further, while the mess of papers looked completely chaotic to Guillermo, it could well be organized in some complex and arcane system that only Nandor was privy to. Guillermo couldn’t know what seemingly random arrangement of scrolls could prove to have meaning to Nandor and therefore be instantly recognizable as having been disturbed. Nor could he be sure which papers the vampire looked at frequently and which may have been laying untouched for weeks. Given Nandor spent most of his nights here, and given he seemed to notice and resent every single change Guillermo tried to make in their home, no matter how minor, it wasn’t unreasonable to assume that the vampire might be very cognizant of the precise state of chaos around him. 

Guillermo tried his level best to snoop around regardless-- breaking into the writing desk and searching it for false bottoms and hidden nooks, looking carefully over the topmost layers of papers. He’d found one secret compartment, but it had been empty, and nothing of use had appeared in any of the documents he could access. Getting nowhere, and aware that Nandor could potentially come back to the house any moment, Guillermo eventually had to concede to the increasingly remote odds that he would find anything useful. He left the study precisely as he’d found it, closing the door softly behind him.

It seemed that he was going to have to find out how Daptes was faring for himself. 

Nandor returned shortly before sunrise. 

Guillermo was hunched over a small table in the library, considering different options for improving and extending their irrigation system, when he heard the vampire’s steps coming down the hall. He considered trying to intercept his husband, but decided against it for now, wary that approaching the vampire too soon would drive him further into hiding. He began to turn his focus back to the book he’d been consulting when a movement at the periphery of his sight caught his attention.

He looked up to find Nandor. The vampire was just barely poking his head into the library, leaning over the threshold while keeping most of his body hidden behind the doorframe. He was also staring at Guillermo. Guillermo stared back. Nandor continued to stand there, staring and saying nothing.

“...Yes?” Guillermo prompted, raising an eyebrow. Nandor visibly braced himself, straightening his spine before stepping into the room and coming over to the table. He thrust his fist forward and opened it, dropping a folded scrap of paper on top of Guillermo’s book. It was small, slightly crumpled, and had Guillermo’s name scrawled on it. The human plucked it up and unfolded it, scanning the text inside:

_«Aye, Memo, ¿are you trying to give everyone attacks of nerves? You send us a pigeon warded to fly over an active battlefield and it is carrying... ¡a grocery list! Mercedes and Amá nearly stormed the capital. We will send the bird and discuss arrangements with Jo for the rest. ¿Have you taught the leech to speak yet or does he still make only pig noises? Write us a real letter. Your Most Cherished Sister, Xia»_

Guillermo thinned his lips. He had been worried that he’d cause a panic in Trestait, sending a pigeon back with such a strong protective sigil with such a mundane message, but by the time he’d seen how Nandor had outfitted the bird it had been too late to really do anything about it. And perhaps it had at least lent a sense of urgency to his requests. 

He read the message over several times, his mouth spreading into a soft, bittersweet grin as he did so. He felt almost as if he could hear Xiomara’s teasing voice, could see the indignant fury on Mercedes’ face when she wasn’t allowed to destroy the alliance between Trestait and Daptes on the basis of a single suspiciously overprotected pigeon. His eyes stung with tears, and he blinked a few times to dispel them. He felt a pang of guilt at being reminded that he hadn’t written an actual proper letter to his family. He’d have to set some time aside for that. He folded the note closed, slipping it carefully into his pocket.

“ _So?_ ” Nandor snapped, startling Guillermo. He’d almost forgotten the vampire was there. “What does it say?”

“Er… well, let’s see, uh...” Guillermo grimaced and wiped his eyes with the back of his hand. He spent a moment contemplating just how faithfully he wanted to translate his sister’s message, given it mentioned his family wanting to siege Daptes’ capital-- and also called his husband both a leech and a pig.

“Out with it already!” Nandor blurted impatiently, interrupting Guillermo’s thoughts. He vampire crossed his arms, frowning deeply. “What does it say, this message? What was it that needed so badly to be hidden from my vampire eyes that it was written to you in nonsensical human cypher?”

Guillermo opened his mouth to tell Nandor that the ‘nonsensical human cypher’ he referred to was just Spanish before realizing something. He frowned, narrowing his eyes at the vampire standing across from him.

“Did you open this before you brought it to me?”

"Did I- of _course_ I did,” Nandor scoffed, not even bothering to lie, as if his right to open Guillermo’s personal correspondence was self evident.

“Well, you shouldn’t have, considering it’s pretty clearly addressed to _me_ ,” Guillermo pointed out, rather annoyed now.

“It was delivered to _me_ in _my_ cabinet room with the rest of the mailings,” Nandor claimed, uncrossing his arms and then, evidently at a loss for what else to do with them, recrossing them. “It was with my mail for me, so I was opening the things and reading the things, and then I am opening this one and it is indecipherable. I did not notice until then. Even if I did, how was I to know it was intended for you _only_? Perhaps it merely _pertained_ to you,” he asserted. "And you still have not told me what it is.”

Guillermo rolled his eyes theatrically. Yeah, like he was going to believe that.

Nandor’s shoulders hiked upwards and he flashed his fangs in a sneer, beginning to pace a small circle in front of the table Guillermo was hunched over.

"I thought figuring out human languages was easy for you,” the human remarked sarcastically, resting his chin on his hand. “You said so last night, didn’t you? You know, when you made that absurd attempt to explain to me what my own _name_ meant?"

“Well, you, that,” Nandor trailed off into unintelligible mumbling and then silent seething before halting in place, uncrossing his arms and raising a forefinger in triumph as if he’d just solved a particularly challenging puzzle. “Do not forget, mortal. I am your _husband_ ,” he proclaimed. “And _as_ your husband, I am _ordering_ you to tell me the message.” He put his finger down and looked cautiously smug. 

Guillermo straightened his posture, leaned back into his chair, and crossed his own arms.

“No,” he said.

Nandor scowled at him for a few second. He seemed angry, but not necessarily surprised, that his ploy hadn’t worked. “I was going to be telling you a good news now, you know,” he muttered, “but now you have ruined it and so I will _not_!” he declared, and with that turned and stormed out of the room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guillermo: *goes into Nandor's office and riffles through his personal papers looking for state secrets*  
> Guillermo: This is fine for me to do because I'm trying to help.  
> Nandor: *opens a letter meant for Guillermo that he can't even read*  
> Guillermo: FIRST of all how very DARE you even TRY t


	31. Collusion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Guillermo makes a deal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok so since it’s ridiculously weird to try to convey time with everyone living nocturnally, I’m just gonna like, clarify the timeline here just to be safe. If we imagine the party happened on Friday night, the last two chapters happened Saturday night, and this chapter happens Sunday morning (so, soon after everyone nocturnal has just gone to sleep).

Guillermo awoke to the clatter of metal on metal, the small nail he’d stuck into the candle beside his bed to mark two hours time having fallen to the plate below. He sat up, blinking in the low candlelight, and listened carefully for any sign of movement from within Nandor’s coffin. Ideally the vampire had slept through the small noise, or if woken would quickly slip back into slumber. Guillermo focused on keeping his breathing and his heartbeat steady in case the vampire had stirred-- should they change rapidly, it might further incite Nandor to rise and see if something was amiss. 

After a few minutes of silence Guillermo began to slide quietly, gradually, out from under the covers, and just as carefully slip out of the crypt and down the stairs. Once out of vampiric earshot he retrieved the doublet, breeches, and slippers he’d stashed in the library the night before, donning them before heading to the front entrance. It was locked, of course, but Guillermo had already seen the key which Nandor had used to open it, which made picking the complex mechanism significantly easier. He settled into a kneeling position and pulled a bundle of tools out of his doublet pocket. He had already begun to make progress when he heard the distinct duet of soles dragging on tiled flooring and shallow nasal breathing that marked the shuffling approach of Colin Robinson. 

Guillermo cursed softly, but with feeling.

“Jowlah, aymeegoo,” the energy vampire called out behind him. It took a few seconds for Guillermo to realize he was trying to say the words ‘hola, amigo’-- but in an accent so astonishingly horrendous that he surely must have deliberately sought out the correct pronunciation and then carefully practiced butchering it until not a single syllable was correct. Guillermo felt an unwanted pulse of annoyance as he stood, and another when he turned around and found the energy vampire inhaling his displeasure with a fulsome grin and flashing eyes. “Where are we going on this fine day, conepawdairy?” Colin Robinson asked. His butchering of ‘compadre’ was far less effectively irritating than his opener had been, now that Guillermo was braced for this tact. The vampire’s smile deflated slightly, likely disappointed that his dedication to comprehensively destroying the Spanish language was not reaping the dividends he’d projected.

“Good morning Colin Robinson,” Guillermo said, taking in and then releasing a deep, centering breath. He wished, in retrospect, that he’d spent at least some portion of the doldrum months between the signing of the wedding contract and seeing to its fulfillment brushing up on managing energy vampires. But it wasn’t like he could have known at the time that he would be dealing with one so frequently, given Nandor had completely neglected to forewarn him of his roommate. “I don’t know where it is you are going. Your workplace, perhaps? I don’t think you ever told me what it is you do.” Doubtless something menial which he would relish explaining in detail, hopefully distracting him from the prospect of following Guillermo.

“Oh, I don’t have to be at work for a _good_ long time,” Colin Robinson said, bypassing Guillermo’s bait with an undertone of relishment that suggested he knew exactly what the human had been trying to pull there. “What about you? What’s got you scratching at the front door like a housecat with the heats?” he asked, making clawing gestures through the air and then chuckling at his joke.

“Nothing important. Just something I need to take care of,” Guillermo evaded.

“Cool, I’ll come with,” the energy vampire replied chipperly.

“That isn’t an option, Colin Robinson. I’m going alone,” Guillermo said calmly, firmly, with the least amount of irritation he could manage. He had always been significantly worse at managing energy vampires than he was with slaying sanguivorous ones. (He thought briefly to his uncle Matias, who more or less single handedly delt with any vampires of the psychic kind who showed up in Trestait. The man was naturally equipped for the work, being earnest to a fault and having a voracious appetite for minutiae, endless stores of good faith, and absolutely no grasp of passive aggression. Uncle Matias could keep an energy vampire engaged in frustrated discourse so long that they ended up eating _themselves_ to death. Guillermo, in contrast, usually found his fingers itching for a stake the moment they opened their mouths.)

Colin Robinson affected an exaggerated grimace, sucked his teeth audibly. 

“Yeeeaah, I’m afraid that’s a _no can do_ , Roomerino," he said without a single hint of remorse, shrugging his shoulders limply. Guillermo’s fingers twitched sporadically with the desire to take something pointy and wooden and plunge it through the energy vampire’s sternum. "I don't think Nandor would be all that jazzed about his human deciding to scamper around Daptes, _especially_ all unattended-like. But heck, what do I know? Maybe he’s cool with all this.” Colin Robinson followed this suggestion up with a flacid smirk, rubbing the palms of his hands against the beige woolen hose covering the flank of his thigh. “Maybe he gave you the all clear, and you were picking that lock just for funsies. Lemme just check in with him _real_ quick to make sure before you go. Old Nandy isn't all that deep of a sleeper, ya know. Heck, I think I could probably just call him right from-"

“You’re not going to do that,” Guillermo cut in. 

Colin Robinson blinked owlishly-- taken aback, perhaps, by Guillermo’s certitude. But then he smiled-- slow and greasy, like oil spreading over water.

“Oh, but, uh, why _wouldn’t_ I?" the energy vampire asked, following his question up with a somewhat reptilian lick of his thin lips. "I mean, he’ll be _so_ mad,” he continued in a rasping, hungry voice. Guillermo took another deep breath. He could work with this. He could make this work. 

"You won’t," he said, “because I'm going to offer you a better deal.” He didn't exactly savor the prospect of negotiating with an energy vampire, but considering the circumstances he didn't have much of a choice. 

His plan had been to slip out of the house and travel to the Temple of Blood Devourers, then return home with the information he needed, with neither his absence nor his presence being noted by another being. It was a reasonable plan given there was relatively little activity in Daptes during daylight hours. While psychic vampires were sometimes out and about in the day time, they tended to stick to their own neighborhoods and enclaves, and many of them had gone fully nocturnal as to be awake when their sanguivorous prey was. 

But plans went wrong all the time, and Guillermo had also taken the most obvious contingencies into consideration. He was wearing the blandest clothes he had not just in order to blend into the environment but also in hopes that, if someone did see him, he would pass well enough as an energy vampire to be overlooked. He’d prepared a cover story in case he was intercepted, and brought weapons in case things turned ugly. 

Colin Robinson was an unexpected and unwelcome contingency, but the backbone of his plan could remain intact. Being caught out by the vampire meant that Guillermo had essentially no hope of keeping this outing a secret from Nandor, but taking him along gave Guillermo a better chance of passing as a psychic vampire, as well as an extra set of eyes and ears to keep guard while he looked for evidence. 

“...A better deal, eh?” Colin Robinson prompted, clearly intrigued.

“Think about it. If you wake Nandor up now and tell him I was trying to get out of the house, he’ll definitely be mad. At _me_ , though. Not at you,” he noted, pointing at himself and then the energy vampire respectively. “Which means it’s just ambient anger. You can eat ambient anger, sure. But we both know that it's crap compared to the real deal-- anger aimed squarely at _you_ , directly incited _by_ _you_. That's an actual meal. And if you’re banking on feeding off me getting mad at you, you’re just going to end up unsatisfied. You know I know how to shut those feelings down. I’ve done it to you before. You’ll just end up stuck with the ambient junk. And sure, it's a passable snack. If you can get enough of it at once-- big enough crowd, intense enough emotion-- it can fill you up. But it's basically dregs. No reason to chase after those if there’s something better on the table, right?"

There was a moment of tense silence.

“...He’ll be mad at me if I let you leave _first_ ,” Colin Robinson reasoned.

“Then I won’t leave,” Guillermo replied, shrugging. “No reason to, if you’re just going to get Nandor up.” Colin Robinson frowned at this. “You could lie to him and say I left, maybe, but you could do that any time. That you haven’t tried it so far indicates you know very well that his relief that I’m still here and fine, that he’s not going to get court marshalled by her Unholiness, is going to totally overpower his anger at you for lying.”

“So what’s _your_ bright idea then, humie?” the energy vampire grumbled, crossing his arms.

“Here’s the arrangement I’m offering you right now,” Guillermo said. “You and I are going to leave the house together. We are going to go to the Temple of Blood Devourers, where I will,” he paused deliberately, laying the foundation of his cover story “...take care of something _private_ , and then you will accompany me back to the house. In exchange for your cooperation, you can tell Nandor what we did the moment we return. He will be furious at you for enabling me, and you can gorge yourself on that until he passes out. So, do we have a deal, then?”

The vampire considered this prospect for a moment. “...If we’re gonna do this, I want to talk to you too,” he insisted. “None of that “good-bye” fast-walking-away shutting-down-the-conversation shit, capische?”

“You’re saying you want to feed off of me,” Guillermo clarified.

"What? No,” Colin Robinson scoffed. “I mean, I might _nibble_ , but mostly I just want for you and me to, eh, _hang out_. You know, have a friendly chat?” Guillermo’s disbelief must have been quite apparent, because Colin Robinson began to pout. “Come on aymeegoo, can you blame me for wanting to get to know the guy who's living on top of me all the sudden?" 

Guillermo thinned his lips, mulling over this counteroffer. “We can have a conversation on the walk over, but it will end as soon as we arrive at our destination, and you won’t talk on the way back.”

“Oh come on!” the energy vampire protested. “That’s hardly anything. I was thinking we’d gab the whole time.”

“The duration of conversation is nonnegotiable,” Guillermo said firmly. “ _However_ , in appreciation for your cooperation, I will agree to tell _one_ lie to Nandor about the circumstances of our trip in order to make him even angrier at you.”

“Like what kind of lie?” Colin Robinson asked, tilting his head in interest.

Guillermo considered the possibilities briefly. “I could tell him I wanted to wait to do this until tonight, so he could go with me, but that you convinced me to do it right now.”

“Oh, _criminy_ ,” Colin Robinson gasped, his body jackknifing and his face distorting like he was having either a severe cramp or ejaculating into his hose. “He’ll be so _mad_ ,” he groaned. “Oh boy, _oh_ , he’d be _so_ mad.” The vampire sucked his teeth then, looking troubled. “Maybe... too mad? I don’t want to get pounded into mince meat, ya know?”

“I will guarantee you safety from physical harm,” Guillermo assured him. “So, we got a deal?”

Colin Robinson considered it a moment longer, then grinned. “We got a deal.”


	32. Conversation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Guillermo holds up his end of the deal.

“So like, what _do_ you want at the Temple of Blood Devourers anyway, humie?” Colin Robinson asked in a nasal, chipper voice as he unlocked the front door of the house, his glasses glinting in the morning sun. Guillermo strode past the energy vampire, put his hand to his forehead and squinted against the glaring light-- having gotten rather used to keeping a nocturnal schedule in the past month. He blinked rapidly as his eyes adjusted, blotches of color flashing in his vision. 

“My name is Guillermo,” he noted with no actual expectation (nor hope, really) of being heard, immediately setting out towards the road at a brisk pace. Colin Robinson made a noise of irritation, jogging to catch up with the human before slowing to a hurried shuffle. The energy vampire trailed Guillermo way too close for comfort, ducking down so his heavy moist breath buffeted the back of Guillermo’s neck. 

“Hey, Mr. Guillermo the human, you promised me a talk,” Colin Robinson asserted, jabbing a spindly finger into the soft point just above where his arm met his chest, clearly impatient with the lack of response. “Whatcha doin’ at the ol’ Tee-Oh-Bee-Dee?”

Guillermo sighed, bent his mouth into a thin frown. “I’d really rather not say.” He tried to put forward a perceptible aura of faltering discomfort without playing it too heavy. Psychic vampires were difficult to deceive by nature.

“Aw come on! I can keep a secret,” Colin Robinson cajoled, an eager note coloring his voice as he moved to Guillermo’s side, panting with the apparent effort of maintaining a sufficiently accelerated shuffle to keep up with the human-- who was pretty sure he didn't even _need_ to breathe. “Come on, you said you wouldn’t stonewall me here, dude.” 

The human affected a grimace, then another sigh.

“I… left something there, at the party last night,” he ‘admitted’ with a sheepish glance back at the energy vampire. “A very fine handkerchief my mother gave me as a parting gift. I misplaced it while I was distracted with…” he paused, and the blush that came to his cheeks was genuine if only because he was thinking of what he _wished_ had happened in the chamber his husband had hurried him away into, “something else.”

“While you and Nandor were smushing butts, ya mean?” Colin Robinson replied readily.

Guillermo closed his eyes. He would _never_ understand how Uncle Matias did this.

“If that’s what you want to call it,” he muttered in implied agreement.

“Things got pretty lively in there, or so I’ve been lead to believe” Colin Robinson noted. Guillermo sighed softly, annoyed but not surprised to discover that the various debacles he’d endured over the course of the party were hot enough gossip items to have already circulated into energy vampire circles. “I heard some dude from Enn-Two-Arr-Two tried to grab your ass and Nandor ate the guy’s whole hand. That musta been wild.”

“There was no ass-grabbing,” Guillermo corrected with genuine embarrassment, “the guy just touched my face. And Nandor only bit off _one_ finger, and he spat it out like a few seconds later anyway.”

Colin Robinson let out a hooting chuckle of delight, slapping his knee as he walked.

“Oh yeah, that’s Nandor for ya,” he asserted. “Classic Relentless move!” Guillermo wondered just how many fingers Nandor had bitten off at luxury office parties, to have it be considered a ‘classic move’ on his part. He loathed to admit it to himself, but he’d actually been pleased at seeing Nandor actually _defend_ him for once-- rather than making a show of growling but then just standing by and gloating intermittently about raping him as an endless stream of vampires drooled over him. Guillermo should have realized sooner that the vampire had just seen an excuse to get into a fight and leapt at it. “You okay, Gizmo?”

“Guillermo,” he corrected reflexively before processing the question itself. “I’m fine,” he said, probably too sharply to actually convince the energy vampire, who could definitely taste his irritation. Guillermo took a few deep breaths and pushed the feeling down. “You said you moved into the house while Nandor was away on campaign,” he noted, attempting to direct the conversation somewhere else. “What exactly brought you to having, and then actually executing, that idea?” he asked, genuinely curious what in hell possessed a mid-tier energy vampire to call squatters rights on the home of an unstable, notoriously violent, undead nightmare of a vampire.

“Well, since more and more e-vamps have been moving into the capital, energy vampire suitable housing has been at a primo lately,” Colin Robinson chirped. “Figured I might as well cash in while the getting is good. Plus, you know, I felt bad for the guy."

"You... felt bad," Guillermo repeated, slowing his pace out of sheer surprise and confusion, "for _Nandor_?"

“I mean yeah,” Colin Robinson shrugged, “like, have you met the guy?”

“I have, in fact, met my husband.” Guillermo confirmed. “Have _you_ met him?”

“Okay, listen though,” Colin Robinson turned around and darted in front of Guillermo, walking backwards so as to speak to him face to face in the most obnoxious way possible. The metal tips at the end of the laces that secured the codpiece of his hose clacked audibly against each other with every step. “I get the initial hesitation. Big scary guy, big beardy scowly face, kills his own kind, basically always wearing plate armor and like, three swords. But, thing is, when you actually _talk_ to the guy,” Colin Robinson stressed these words with dedicated precision, pinching his fingers in emphasis, expression grave, “he's just, like, a _**total** loser_.”

Guillermo snorted so hard he choked, then choked so hard he had to stop walking entirely, doubling over and pounding his fist against his chest to clear his airway before he could speak again.

"I mean, you see it, right?" Colin Robinson prompted as Guillermo struggled to recover his composure, putting his hands to his hips and cocking his head to the side. “Dude is really lonely. It’s kinda pathetic, honestly. You can't _help_ but feel bad for the guy, once you see it."

Guillermo cleared his throat and swallowed the remaining dregs of his laugh before answering.

“I can see what you mean, I guess, but for what it’s worth, I don’t think Nandor is lonely so much as he just thinks he’s too good for everyone.” _Particularly me_ , he thought with a pang, and walked past Colin Robinson.

“Naw,” Colin Robinson said as he resumed his place besides Guillermo. "He's just a big prickly, whadja callit. Poke hog? Pointy pig?” He screwed his face in concentration briefly. ”Hedgehog!” he exclaimed triumphantly. “Once you get past the spines he’s basically just like a weird little dog that eats ants.”

“Agree to disagree,” Guillermo muttered. Hedgehog comparisons aside, if Nandor were actually _lonely_ one would think he'd be willing to tolerate Guillermo's presence for upwards of an hour. But so far he’d shown every sign of finding such an arrangement intolerable. He'd rather be totally isolated than bear Guillermo's company.

“Eeh I’m pretty sure I’m in the right here, champ,” Colin Robinson chirped. “I know old Nandy pretty well. I mean, at this point I'd say I'm probably pretty much his best friend.” He paused briefly in contemplation. “I guess that makes me your best bud in law, eh?” he suggested with evident excitement.

Guillermo was starting to have trouble telling how much of this was an attempt to drain him and how much was an attempt to actually be friendly.

“Is that why you were able to move in while he was away, then? He’d invited you over before?” Guillermo asked.

“Oh no,” Colin Robinson said, waving his hand dismissively. “After a certain period of continuous vacancy a building’s considered up for grabs, supernaturally speaking. So I basically just had to wait until then to pounce."

Guillermo nodded. He already suspected as much, at least in broad strokes-- but the scientific question of what exact amount of time this process took was something that had been very difficult to nail down.

"You have to move fast, you know, in the real estate biz,” Colin Robinson lectured. “That’s short for Business.” 

“So that would mean you’ve been living there for...” Guillermo trailed off, pretending to struggle with the mental arithmetic.

“About f-” the energy vampire started to supply before catching himself. “Oh! You little rascal, you almost got me there!” Colin Robinson laughed with what sounded like genuine pleasure, adjusting his spectacles and pointing a broad grin at Guillermo. “Fishing for vampire trade secrets, eh?”

Guillermo shrugged, seeing no point in denying it. “Figured it was worth a shot.” Unfortunately he couldn’t tell if Colin Robinson was about to say four, five, fourteen, or fifteen. It could well have been in the fifties or forties, but Nandor’s last campaign had been a trim seventeen years or so. Of course, if he wasn’t back long enough between campaigns to re-establish residency... plus, Guillermo had no way of knowing Colin Robinson was going to say years instead of, say, months, or on the other hand decades… 

“Wait, does that mean other vampires can come in uninvited _now_?” Guillermo asked. He had assumed the answer was no, and thus that he could mostly put his guard down at home, but without the need for invitation an assassin could fly in through a window at any time. This was exactly the kind of oversight that he had come to expect from Nandor, unfortunately.

“Nah. Nandor has seniority since he’s been living there on and off for like, centuries-- so once he was back it was his castle again, everyone else vamoose. Unless you were already living there by the time he returned, then he was stuck with you. ‘You’ here meaning me, Colin Robinson, plus Cravensworth and Athanasiou.”

“Cr- are you talking about Laszlo and Nadja? _They_ used to live with _Nandor_?” Guillermo asked, suddenly gaining new perspective on his encounter with the two.

“Yup! They moved in after they burned their house down. I heard they were doing erotic candle sex irresponsibly,” Colin Robinson said. “But ol’ Nandorino managed to toss ‘em both out. Think he was worried they’d try to eatcha. He tried to get rid of me too, if you can believe it!” Guillermo could believe it. “But I'm persistent. Like a toe fungus. You know the type that lives under your nail? You know I once had a fungal infection that was so- _shit_ ," Colin Robinson cut himself off, glaring at something. Guillermo followed his gaze and found a mousy woman wandering towards them from across the street, eyeing Guillermo with tentative curiosity. She looked so forlorn and simpering that Guillermo almost thought she was a familiar, but then he realized she was far too hale to be subsisting on bone gruel. An psychic vampire of some kind, then. Either way a welcome distraction from Colin Robinson’s infected toes.

"Back off Evie," Colin Robinson snapped, gesturing for the woman to keep walking.

"Oh, but Colin..." she began, voice trembling.

Colin Robinson hissed at the other vampire, who began blubbering with tears. It was a rather pitiful sight. Guillermo made a concerted effort not to feel bad for her, knowing that was probably what she was angling for. Sure enough, she stopped weeping shortly after they passed her, and Guillermo glanced back to find her glaring at the both of them, face scrunched in irritation.

"That's Evie Russel,” Colin Robinson supplied as they continued on. “Emotional vampire. We used to date. It didn't work out but the sex was amazing, I don't think I came _once_ the whole time."

“Ah,” Guillermo said, suddenly wishing the conversation would return to fungi.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Someone on the Nandermo server suggested that the point of energy vampire sex was not to orgasm and it's lived rent free in my head ever since. Watch this space for credit whenever I figure out who it was.
> 
> EDIT: Heyo so, due to having a bunch of deadlines on top of each other and also, the general stress of a white supremacist attempted coup of the government and all, next chapter is going to be late. If I don't post it before the end of Wednesday it probably won't be able to post it until next Monday, but if I have the spoons I might try to like, put up a compensatory drabble or somesuch?? Apologies for not maintaining the schedule but, well, there's a lot going on.


	33. Discovery

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Guillermo finds something he’s been looking for.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you love exposition and worldbuilding then, oh boy, do I have a chapter for you?? Sorry to post so late-- I think that my grand experiment of switching to Mondays has been firmly rebuked by reality and I will be returning to Tuesdays. Hopefully I can also put up a little bonus short fic as apology between this update and the next.

The actual entry into the Temple of Blood Devourers itself proved quite straightforward. There were two energy vampires stationed at the front entrance, and Colin Robinson waved at them as he and Guillermo passed. They waved back. Colin Robinson proceeded to lead Guillermo around a corner to a discreet side entrance which had been left completely unguarded. The few vampire posted inside of the building were more or less falling asleep on their feet-- compelled instinctually to retreat into slumber during the day but without their native soil on them, the closest approximation they could get to genuine rest was a sort of dazed torpor. It was easy for the human and energy vampire to evade notice as they navigated the halls. Colin Robinson seemed to know his way around the building quite handily and had, true to their agreement, remained almost entirely silent once they’d passed its threshold. Guillermo had to begrudgingly credit him for that much. When he found the chamber out of which the Chief Blood Supply Overseer performed his work he discovered, as the garnish on top of an already absurdly easy infiltration, that its door was unlocked. 

Guillermo was struggling to believe that the vampires leading Daptes would really be _this_ cavalier about their safety. Could it be that this whole thing was a trap? It would be a painfully _obvious_ one… but it wasn’t like vampires were known for subtlety. _Well_ , he thought, _I’ve gone this far already._ Even if this did end up being an elaborate trick, he’d still have at least three minutes to decide what to do about it during the melodramatic gloating monologue that vampires inevitably gave right before actually springing a trap they’d set.

“Keep watch for me, alright?” he whispered aside to Colin Robinson. “This might take a while.”

“Aye aye, humie homie,” the energy vampire replied just a little too loudly for comfort, giving him a salute. Guillermo shot him a warning glare and put his forefinger to his lips before slipping into the room. He used the dim illumination provided by the torch lined hall to locate a candle, lighting it and then closing the door. He took immediate notice of another door on the opposite wall, likely connecting the chambers to a private crypt, and picked up the nearby desk chair, using it to jam the entrance closed. It had little chance of actually stopping a vampire from getting through, but it would make enough noise to alert Guillermo a few precious seconds in advance.

According to the protractively-titled guidebook Guillermo had found while attending the recent party, the current Chief Overseer of Blood Supply was a vampire named Blavglad the Exsanguinator. Guillermo knew a few things about Blavglad: he was aligned with the Leatherskin House and thus, by extension, Simon the Devious; he’d been a soldier of moderate importance and a statesman of minor importance in one of the smaller nations Daptes had conquered; he had been appointed to his current post about a decade ago; and, Guillermo noted he looked around his workspace, he was far more meticulously organized than Nandor, which was very convenient for Guillermo’s purposes. The human smiled softly to himself and headed towards the writing desk.

For the past century the most significant question the Unholy Revenant Empire of Daptes had posed to the world of vampire slayer scholarship was how, exactly, it _hadn’t_ collapsed within the first twenty years of its founding.

Vampiric societies were, as a rule, notoriously short lived. The body of literature which made up the study of revenant nations was for the most part a catalogue of the ways in which they had met their various demises. More than half of undead republics known to humans had fallen apart within five years of their founding, generally as a result of infighting between their own citizens. The vast majority of those that had managed to pass the milestone of their fifth anniversary had never reached their tenth, territorial disputes with groups of rival vampires and conflicts with other supernatural groups having lead to their fall, fracture, or assimilation. Only a handful of vampire societies had managed to weather clashes with adversary revenant nations, opposition from other categories of supernatural beings, and the squabbling of their own citizens for fifteen years. Of those few surviving republics, all but Daptes had been taken out before they reached the end of their second decade by humans.

Specifically, by a shortage of humans.

It wasn’t all that difficult to see, at least by Guillermo’s judgement, how the idea of forming an insular republic with an all-vampire population was one doomed to failure by its very premise. A single sanguivorous nightwalker could easily go through hundreds of humans in the span of a year, which was a relatively minor concern so long as said nightwalker lived in an environment where prey outnumbered predators by several magnitudes. This was why vampire houses, small groups of the undead who lived amongst humans, could remain stable for centuries. As long as the ratio of humans to vampires in a population was large enough, the undead could slake their thirsts (and do so sustainably for millenia), just by sourcing victims from within their immediate area.

Reverse that ratio by assembling large masses of vampires to live in isolation, however, and they started to run out of humans pretty quickly.

In a way even the societies that had crumbled as a result of conflict could trace those conflicts to a shortage in blood. A newly founded revenant nation could generally furnish its population with blood for its first few months just by sourcing meals from the human residents of the settlement they’d begun their nation by invading and overtaking, and from towns within comfortable raiding distance of that settlement. But hunting that way was sort of like if a human burned a forest down because they felt like having venison. In the short term they would probably be able to find plenty of burnt deer, likely a much larger number than they could have reaped by hunting manually, and with much less effort. In the long term, however, it meant it would probably be at least three generations before another deer set hoof on that land again. 

When the pickings started to get slim was when most of the infighting set in-- vampires snapping at each other, arguing over who was to blame for the shortage, eating each other’s familiars. Assuming the union survived that, the next step would typically be to expand their borders, to seek out new territory and new sources of blood. This was where they tended to come into conflicts with outsiders. When these clashes occurred between rival nations it was common for each side, in an attempt to secure victory through sheer numbers, to start turning their remaining supply of humans. The winning side would then absorb the survivors of the defeated party into its own population. This ultimately worsened the blood shortages, given that newly risen vampires were particularly voracious, needing to drain a victim at least three times a week. (As a vampire aged over the course of centuries they typically needed to feed less and less often-- Nandor would probably be able to survive on a single feeding a month, and truly ancient specimens were rumored to be able to subsist on the same for upwards of a year. This did not mean, of course, that elder vampires limited their consumption accordingly. Vampires were defined, after all, by their entitlement, hedonism, and excess, none of which appeared to mellow with age.) 

With every repetition of this cycle the surviving nation grew more populous in their number, more rapacious in their appetite, less disciplined in their disposition, and less united in their loyalty. Like the husk of a hollowed tree-- its heartwood core long since putrefied, it’s sapwood carved out by decay-- it was only a matter of time until its inevitable collapse.

So the question Guillermo had in his mind as he examined Blavglad’s records was not how it was possible that Daptes could be running out of blood, but rather how it was possible that Daptes had maintained a sufficient blood supply up until _now._

Guillermo found one major component of this answer fairly quickly: Nandor the Relentless was, in fact, very good at his job. This wasn’t exactly shocking-- that Nandor was exceptionally talented in the art of warfare was obvious to anyone with an even cursory knowledge of vampire history. But it was hard to discern how many humans he'd actually captured alive, given he and his army were particularly thorough pillagers of the settlements which they invaded. Flipping through the annual blood supply inventories, it was immediately apparent to Guillermo that his husband's campaigns had not only consistently supplied the lion’s share of human prisoners to the capital, but that he was regularly capturing upwards of nine tenths of estimated human populations. The number of prisoners consumed over the course of the return trip was also impressively low. Other generals were bringing back forty, fifty prisoners for every hundred who had lived in the kingdoms they pillaged. Nandor was bringing back seventy, eighty. 

Nandor was clearly very efficient at delivering human prisoners to the capital, enough that they even built up a stockpile, but Daptes was hardly the first revenant nation to try keeping prisoners long term. It had never worked before, vampires being so inept at keeping humans alive that most of their reserves died before they could even be consumed. But when Guillermo looked at the proportion of human prisoners marked as dying before they could be drained, most years hovered around a loss of ten humans for every hundred kept, an _extraordinarily_ low rate considering the circumstances. About thirty years ago the rate had started to rise gradually, and then abruptly jumped to forty in every hundred. About a decade ago it had restabilized at a rate of around thirty per hundred, but since then the consumption rates had trended downwards. 

Unable to explain these patterns with his prior knowledge, Guillermo looked for a ledger of expenses and, finding one, cross referenced it with the prisoner inventories. He noted that one of the heftier expenses was something ambiguously labeled ‘Elixir’ sourced from someone even more ambiguously labeled ‘L.C.’. What this elixir was for wasn’t specified-- but it was under blood supply expenses, and the number of units purchased rose and fell, at least initially, in proportion to the number of prisoners gained in the year-- so Guillermo felt pretty confident in assuming that it had probably been what was keeping the human prisoners alive. But then, at least judging by the steady decrease in units purchased and corresponding increase in loss rates, someone had gotten the bright idea to start watering it down. The abrupt jump in losses came the year they stopped purchasing the elixir altogether. The next entry for ‘Elixir’ corresponded with the stabilization in the past decade. It was at a noticeably cheaper price, and the source had changed to ‘N.C.’ So they’d watered it down, then stopped using it, then bought a cheap knock off, which may or may not be making the humans inedible.

But _why_ , then, wouldn’t they at least send Nandor out, to invade a new human settlement and refresh their blood supply? Guillermo puzzled over this, reexamining the records of Nandor’s last campaign. It looked like he had travelled as far west as he could, the last portion of prisoners he’d delivered coming from district of port cities on the western coastline of the continent. Well, alright, so he’d hit the coast. They could just double back to old conquests. Most human settlements recovered within a few generations of a vampire raid-- survivors who’d managed to hide in their cellars during the attack would emerge the next morning to rebuild, those who had been able to flee would return to their homes, refugees from other raided cities would flood in, and the population would be restored.

 _Except_ , Guillermo realized with a plummeting stomach, that Nandor was very good at his job. Nandor was _too_ good at his job. He was relentless. When he was finished pillaging there weren’t any humans _left_ to rebuild, to return, to seek refuge elsewhere. When Nandor conquered a human settlement it was an extinction event.

“Fuck,” Guillermo said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Credit for “Humie Homie” goes to ~~HeartlessGuillermo~~ OOPS I misremembered credit goes to Uv_Duv in fact


	34. Bonus Intermission: Jenna

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which we see Jenna's perspective of Chapter 28, when Nandor and Guillermo come back from the party.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was supposed to be a short little thing as apology for missing/late chapters but then oops it got out of hand and now its the size of an actual chapter lol. I debated whether to post it by itself or as part of this story but given it makes no sense out of context and I wanted ppl who follow this story to know about it, instead here it is as bonus chapter.

Jenna cleaned a lot when she felt nervous.

Well, she was a Familiar, so she cleaned a lot in general. She cleaned every night and day as part of her regular duties. She cleaned whenever she was told by a Vampire that something needed cleaning. It didn’t matter how she was feeling at that time. Familiars didn't get to pick and choose what they did and when they did it based on their moods, whims, or needs. But she found it often helped her to keep calm when she felt out of sorts, when she felt especially helpless and uncertain and scared, to find something to clean. 

Master and his husband had left for the Temple of Blood Devourers almost four hours ago, and in that time she had rendered her Master’s house nearly immaculate.

Jenna had dusted every corner and crevice, swept every hallway, cut every candle wick, polished every fixture, and laundered every piece of clothing she could find. She was considering washing the floors, but she had no idea when Master would return, and he would doubtlessly be unamused if he came back to wet floors. And furious, likely, if she ventured into any of the rooms which the Vampire had marked off as forbidden to her entry-- even if she could clearly see what a haphazard mess they were through their open entryways. 

So Jenna wandered the halls aimlessly searching for something to occupy herself with, fiddling anxiously with the hem of her tunic as her mind circled around one prevailing fear: that Mr. Guillermo would not return from the gathering.

Master had ranted extensively about how dangerous it was for a vulnerable and delicious Human to enter such a place. Mr. Guillermo had in contrast appeared rather unbothered, which was a small assurance-- but perhaps, as her Master insisted, he had no concept of the perilous territory into which he was entering. Jenna had served for most her life among the Communal Familiars on staff at the Temple of Blood Devourers, so she knew very well there were indeed many frightening and powerful figures who resided there. But surely, she told herself, no one would _dare_ attempt to touch Mr. Guillermo. Not with Nandor the Relentless guarding him. 

Jenna felt an icy shudder run through her body at the mere thinking of that name. It was much less daunting to think of the Vampire who owned her simply as Master. Jenna had served many Masters of many temperaments in her years, and so far survived them all. If she pretended her current owner was just another Master, just another Vampire, he wasn’t _so_ terrifying.

It wasn’t that the average Vampire was _not_ scary. The undead overlords she and the other Familiars served could often be silly, childish, vapid, spoiled, and lazy, but they were still very much figures of horror. The most fanciful and whiny of them could still rip even the strongest Familiar limb from limb. Vampires were, in every way, _more_ than mortal. Beyond them in power and agility and sense and brutality. They were monsters. Familiars were fortunate that their Masters had no taste for them, because there was nothing else stopping them from becoming a snack. A Familiar had no chance of defending themselves, even were it permitted by law. How could you defend yourself from something impossibly strong and impossibly fast, with teeth and talons and the ability to seize control of your very _mind_ with their voice alone? There were very few things a Vampire had cause to fear. The exception was, at least in some rare cases, another Vampire. (Jenna had heard it claimed that Vampires also feared Vampire Slayers, but Guillermo said he was a Vampire Slayer, and no seemed very scared of him.) 

Jenna’s Master was the kind of Vampire that other Vampires feared. The kind of Vampire that killed his own kind. 

Jenna had heard a great many things about her Master over her years serving the Empress’ house.

That he was ruthless, demanding, devoid of mercy-- deriving joy only from bloodshed and the suffering of others, including his fellow Vampires. That he was incapable of affection or attachment, unpredictable, unhinged, brutal. That his eyes were flat and dark and cold and that the very way he held himself was at once unnaturally controlled and borderline feral. That he was unsmiling outside of battle, the closest he came to a warm expression being a painful looking grimace. That he consumed mortal flesh.

For generation upon generation Familiar parents had threatened their naughty children with the claim that, if they continued to misbehave, they would get sent to work for the Relentless one.

Jenna had wondered, at first, what she had done to deserve such a miserable fate as to be gifted to her Master. She had always tried to be a good Familiar-- neat and attentive, servile and eager to please. Why was she being punished? Why would her Unholiness have chosen her to sacrifice? But when she had awoken Mr. Guillermo that first night after his wedding the look of exhausted despair on his face had admonished her to be grateful her lot in life wasn’t worse. At least she had been spared the fate of this poor Human, forced to serve their Master in the most degrading and intimate of ways in a desperate bid to protect his feeble Human kingdom from Daptes’ might. And Mr. Guillermo, for all he suffered and for all Jenna was useless to him, had been endlessly kind and patient and generous and courageous. 

Mr. Guillermo was so cool. Mr. Guillermo was so brave. He always knew what to do. He stood up to their Master on Jenna’s behalf as if it were nothing. And he never seemed to care when Master got mad and yelled and ordered him to do something. Not only that, Mr. Guillermo could make _Master_ do things. It had been enough to make Jenna wonder deliriously if this was what all Humans were like, outside of the Empire. If they did not fear Vampires as Familiars did. Jenna had long believed, had long overheard it said, that the Empress was the only Vampire in existence who could make Nandor do anything he didn't choose to do himself. But Mr. Guillermo could do it too. And if something, if _anything_ happened to Mr. Guillermo...

Jenna was so lost in the fog of her worry, meandering around the house and fretting with her hem, that she almost missed the sound of the front door opening. She rushed down a hall towards the vestibule, rounded the corner and came face to face-- well, face to chest-- with her Master.

The sight of her Master always flooded Jenna’s body with an uneasy sense of dread, but tonight this sensation was uniquely accompanied by sharp shock of fear and horror which lanced down her spine as if she’d been run through with a sword. Jenna couldn't help the yip of fear that left her mouth.

The Vampire’s face was splattered with blood. It had dried in some places and matted into his beard. The dark crimson smear across his mouth gave his scowl an additional terrifying aspect, not that her Master’s frown needed any augmentation in order to make Jenna’s stomach plummet. He was staring darkly, intensely forward-- his eyes bright, his shoulders hunched and lips twisted with an aura of agony. Jenna thought with terror of Mr. Guillermo. She hadn't seen, hadn't heard- 

Her Master’s husband stepped forward from his side and at once Jenna was overwhelmed with such profound relief that she flung herself upon him, wrapping the Human in her arms and clinging to him like a lifeline. She babbled words of relief and gratitude into his neck, barely hearing his reply above her own sobs.

“Familiar Jenna,” her Master called in a crisp unforgiving voice, and Jenna came back to her senses with all the abrupt shattering fanfare of a chandelier plummeting to the floor, jerking away from Mr. Guillermo and turning around to face that merciless, stony visage. "...I will not require you to prepare me for coffin today," he continued after a pause, to Jenna's mixed relief, confusion, and disbelief. "You may retire to your den once you have completed your work."

"Th- thank you Master," she stammered, bowing deeply. Her Master grunted softly, then turned and left. Only once the click of his boots against the floor became inaudible did she rise from her bow, trembling and woozy.

“You alright, Jenna?” Mr. Guillermo asked softly, putting a gentle steadying hand against her arm. 

"He's furious with me," she squeaked out.

“He’ll get over it,” the Human replied with a scoff. “Don’t worry, I won’t let him take his temper tantrum out on you. You didn’t even do anything wrong.” 

Jenna shook her head in disbelief and looked aside into Mr. Guillermo’s eyes. One of the lenses of his spectacles was marred by a speckling of dried blood, and she resisted the urge to pull them off of his face and clean them on her tunic.

“I _touched_ you,” she reminded him, feeling quite ill. “ _No one_ is allowed to touch you. No one but Master.”

Guillermo rolled his eyes, as if this were a silly assumption on her part and not an obvious truth, not a rule so self-evident that speaking it was redundant.

“Believe me, Jenna, if it were feasible for Nandor to permanently outsource the task of touching me to someone else, I’m sure he would be _leaping_ at the chance,” he said.

Jenna considered telling Mr. Guillermo he was wrong. She couldn’t imagine how the Human could conclude such a thing. Did he not notice the way Nandor _looked_ at him, hungry and burning like fire consuming kindling? Jenna thinned her lips. Even if it were her place to disagree, even if she believed her words could persuade her Master’s husband, perhaps this was just what Mr. Guillermo needed to believe. Perhaps this was how he reckoned with his own ignominious fate, by insisting to himself that their Master’s covetous interest in him was something feigned. 

Jenna could’t take that from him. Not when Mr. Guillermo had done so much for her. So she swept her tears from under her eyes and nodded.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Guillermo wouldn't have believed her anyway, if it helps)


	35. Absence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Nandor awakens from his unholy slumber and experiences an emotion which is definitely different than fear.

Nandor awakened slowly, groggily, and with much opposition from his body, which preferred to spend the daylight hours firmly ensconced in cadaverous repose. His eyelids hung heavy but he lifted them regardless-- something had woken him, he felt certain. Something must be awry. He listened carefully, his ears able to pick up the slightest of sounds even surrounded at he was by his fur lined wooden coffin, but he heard nothing. His crypt was silent. He frowned in the darkness, remaining still and intent for any sound, and then it hit him.

His crypt was _not_ supposed to be silent. His crypt was supposed to be noisy with Guillermo’s heartbeat, the hum of his deep breathing inwards and outwards, the occasional soft droning snore, the slide of human skin on linen when he turned over. Something which Nandor might have called fear, if he were a vampire who experienced fear, shot through him at once and he surged forward, shoving the lid of his casket upwards in defiance of the protesting groan the mechanism emitted from the hinge. He heaved himself out of his coffin and to his feet. Guillermo was not in his bed. Nandor felt first a rush of relief-- the mortal was not silent because he was dead, he was silent because he was gone elsewhere. But then he was consumed by another shock of what he could only describe as definitely-not-fear-- where had the mortal gone, then? The hour was not yet sunset, nor anywhere near, as Nandor would have sensed the shift approaching. He should have had no reason to arise from his mortal slumber.

“Guillermo?” he called out, listening for an answer and clenching his jaw when none came. Had he awoken briefly to take a human shit and been sprung upon by Colin Robinson and drained into a state of unconsciousness? Had he wandered off into the daylight? Had he been taken? Had he been _harmed_? “Guillermo!” he cried out again, louder this time. There came no response. Nandor’s breath was too harsh and too quick in the silence of his crypt as he stood, tense as a bowstring, without knowing what to do.

 _The familiar,_ he thought to himself, _the familiar should know_. He rushed out of the room and down the stairs, heading for the little closet the human stored herself in and ripping the door open. The mortal was already becoming awake when he arrived at the mouth of her den, her pasty face blinking blearily as she sat up from her sleeping cot and squinted towards him.

“Familiar,” he barked. The human tensed at the command for her attention and at once jolted to her feet. Tried to, at least-- she tangled her clumsy human legs into the linen covering of her bedroll in the process of arising and nearly fell over, taking several seconds to scramble for the balance needed to remain upwards. 

“Forgive me, Master,” she begged, grasping the wall as she attempted to remove her limbs from the sheets. “I didn’t mean to sleep in. I didn’t realize the t- time. I’m so sorry I, I didn’t think-” she babbled, eyes filling with tears.

Irritated by all of this excessive blubbering, Nandor hissed sharply at the human to silence her. She cringed and screwed her eyes shut, putting her hands over her head and ducking as if attempting to protect her delicate brains from shrapnel, but her mewling at last ceased.

“Where is Guillermo?” Nandor demanded of the girl.

“Wh- what?” she said, raising her head and looking at him with useless confusion, her whole frame trembling as if she was soon to fall apart into pieces.

“Where. Is. _Guillermo_?” Nandor asked more loudly, so that her puny human ears might hear, grasping her arms to try and stop her from shaking so. 

“I d- don’t know, Master, I don’t know,” the human claimed, retreating back into a fit of weeping and sobbing no different from the one that she had only just ceased. “He isn’t in the cry- crypt?” she asked with a hiccup. 

“Of course he is not in the crypt! What a ridiculous question,” Nandor scoffed. “I was just inside of the crypt. I would therefore have seen him if he was in the crypt! But he is not! And he is not responding to my calling either!” 

The human familiar Jenna at last ceased her whimpering, blinking her tears from her eyes and looking suddenly very concerned. 

“I’ll help you find him, Master,” she vowed. “Where have you looked already?”

“I did not look anywhere else, you were supposed to know!” Nandor despaired, throwing his hands into the air. “Why is it you do not know?”

“I’m sorry, Master. Do you think he’s somewhere in the house, or, or do you think he left?” the human familiar asked before hiccuping again and then making an unappetizing snorting and sniffling noise.

“He could not have left the house because-” Nandor suddenly recalled the ring of keys which he’d left in his desk. “ _Shit_ ,” he cursed, transforming into a bat and flying swiftly back up the stairs, where he resumed his human form and stormed into his study. He pulled out one of the drawers of the central cabinet so that he could trigger the mechanism to release a compartment hidden behind a decorative carving, relieved to pull it out and see the keys there. Good. Good. He was still somewhere inside the house, then. The only problem was finding where. 

“M- master?” the Jenna human’s voice called breathlessly from the doorway.

“He is inside,” Nandor confirmed to her. He rounded on the human, frowning. “Why is he not answering me when beckoned, if he is inside?”

“I don’t know, Master,” the familiar replied uselessly. Nandor grunted in dismissal, pacing back and forth across the length of his study. He came upon an uneasy thought-- that Guillermo might perhaps be in hiding from him. But why would his human so suddenly decide that he must conceal himself from Nandor, after so many nights spent pestering him at every moment? Was he truly so upset that Nandor had attempted to read his little coded message? Or had there, perhaps, been something _within_ the text of the message which had caused him to hide away? Nandor remembered with a pang the sight of his husband’s eyes welling with tears as he read the words upon the small paper. He had refused to admit who had sent it, nor would he confess what it contained. Had it been a threat? Harassment, perhaps? Slanderous words? Nandor longed to seek vengeance against whatever interloper had deliberately injured the nascent relational harmony he had achieved with the inscrutable mortal to whom he was wed.

“Go wander about the house and call to him, maybe he will find it easier to hear your squeaky human voice,” he commanded to Jenna. “We will cover more of the ground if we split up.” And even if Guillermo was upset with Nandor he should at least respond to the familiar to which he seemed to feel so fondly. (Nandor did not think about watching the familiar human embrace his human husband, receive his embrace in return.)

“Mr. Guillermo? Mr. Guillermo de la Cruz?” Jenna called out tentatively as Nandor passed her, her wavering voice fading gradually from hearing as he and began a thorough search of the premises for his missing mate.

Nandor checked in the library. Nandor checked in the human kit-chen. Nandor checked in the water pump room. Nandor checked in the room where he kept his swords. Nandor checked in the birdy room. Nandor checked in the divan room. Nandor checked in the room where he kept his other swords. Nandor checked the crypt again. Nandor checked the back stairwell. Nowhere did he find Guillermo. Could he have forgotten to lock one of the doors before retiring to coffin? He checked them thrice every night, but could he have forgotten just this once? Had-

“Master!” he heard the familiar Jenna yell faintly from the front of the house “Master he’s he-” Nandor sprang into motion, careening across the length of the house at a lightning pace as he tracked the sound of Jenna’s voice to it’s source, arriving to the vestibule before the familiar had even completed her word. His eyes fixed immediately to his husband-- his precious, vexatious mortal-- who was tucking something into his doublet with a look of concerned thoughtfulness. “-er!” Jenna finished, then yelped as Nandor shot past her to grasp hold of his mate.

He clutched Guillermo tightly against his body, cradling the back of his head, the mortal’s hot face pressed to his shoulder. Then he sunk to his knees and pressed the side of his head against the center of his human’s chest, where even over the din of his own heaving vestigial breath he could hear Guillermo’s heart beating hard, blood coursing through his body, the faint gurgle of digestion. Surrounded by the choral evidence of Guillermo’s vitality, the song of his functioning body, he was flooded with relief. He closed his eyes. He could feel the mortal’s chest lift as his diaphragm flexed and his lungs filled and emptied of air, the warmth and softness and pliability of his flesh, the small twitches of his muscles. Alive and safe, _alive_ and _safe_. Nandor was hardly even able to summon anger at the mortal for playing such a mean trick as hiding away, so absolute was his elation at discovering him in one piece. 

Still, it would not do to have the mortal thinking he could do things such as this whenever it was he wished to. Nandor reluctantly pried his arms away from where they’d encircled Guillermo’s form, rising to his feet and giving a dignified clearing of his throat.

“Where were you?” he demanded, placing his hands upon the mortal’s shoulders and bending slightly down to look him in the eye. “You gave Jenna quite the scare, you did,” he noted, pointing aside to the familiar. Guillermo looked sheepish and glanced to his side. Nandor jumped slightly as a nasal voice sounded-- he’d not even noticed Colin Robinson standing at the other side of the vestibule.

“Just taking a little trip to the ol’ Tee Oh Bee Dee,” the energy vampire said. 

“The _what_?” Nandor asked, furrowing his brow as he looked to Colin Robinson.

“The Temple of Blood Devourers,” Guillermo said. Nandor turned his face back to Guillermo so quickly it would have snapped a mortal neck.

“The _**what**?_” Nandor asked, reeling with horror. His delicious, fragile human had escaped the household and been wandering around a building packed to the brim with powerful vampires-- any _one_ of whom could have been drawn from their unholy slumber by the intoxicating scent of his blood as he passed by? Nandor's stomach felt like he had just gorged himself on human food items. “But, but how did, how did you, the keys were-”

“Don’t worry Nandy. I kept watch over him,” Colin Robinson piped up.

“Colin Robinson, you found him there? You brought him back?” Nandor asked, entirely uncertain what to do with the feelings of overwhelming gratitude and profound indebtedness he was experiencing towards _Colin Robinson_ , of all vampires. Colin Robinson made a brief strange face of displeasure which was quickly replaced with a glowering smile. 

“Did ya one better, actually. I’m the one who _took_ him there!” he boasted.

Nandor blinked. Nandor straightened his posture. Nandor took his hands from the shoulders of his husband. Nandor looked at Colin Robinson. Nandor saw bloody, vibrant, _murderous_ red.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> EDIT 02/02/21-- Chapter will be late in the day today.


	36. A Lull

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Guillermo keeps Nandor company and considers the future.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't actually know if this chapter is good. I know I've missed a lot of typos lately and I apologize for lateness and any decrease in quality-- my meds basically stopped working out of nowhere in the middle of last month and I don't get to see my psychiatrist until the 8th. In reality I'm probably the person most annoyed with myself for not keeping to schedule/quality, so please don't feel obligated to give me reassurance or anything-- I am saying this sincerely. 
> 
> I promise there is more juicier chapters coming also.

“..and I shall… core out... eyeballs... the, tongue scissors...” Nandor panted, his legs at last crumpling beneath him, his talons weakly clawing at the invisible barrier which kept him from realizing his elaborate and gorey threats unto Colin Robinson’s person. He mumbled something unintelligible that ended in ‘flayed skin,’ before groaning and slumping even lower to the ground. “Brine,” he spat with the last of his energy, before finally slipping completely from the realm of consciousness and collapsing in a pile at the border of the warding circle.

Guillermo glanced up at Colin Robinson, who was levitating a full five inches off of the floor, his eyes glowing like beacons. He seemed to have grown a moustache in the past ten minutes, which was a new one on Guillermo.

“Golly gee _whilikers_ ,” Colin Robinson moaned. “He is maaa-ad,” he sang, the light in his eyes only just starting to fade as his hovering ceased. Guillermo hummed noncommittally, looking back down at the toppled form of his husband. He wished he could say Nandor looked small like that, but of course he didn’t. Laying prone on the floor just emphasized the length and bulk of his limbs, the mass of his body spread out across the tile like a puddle of ink. Guillermo frowned. He had expected the vampire to be upset, of course, but this had really been beyond the pale. ”So uh,” Colin Robinson’s nasal drone pierced his contemplation, the energy vampire adjusting his spectacles when Guillermo looked up at him, “you gonna let me out now, Bee Bee Eye El?” 

Guillermo idly considered letting the vampire squirm for a bit, but it was in his best interest to remain on good terms with Colin Robinson, so he lifted his foot over the border of the salt circle and swept it to the side, disrupting the line and thus deactivating the ward.

“Grayceeasse,” the vampire said, stepping out of the circle and popping his knuckles. "Hot diggity dog, what a meal! I feel like I could fight a snail the size of a horse, if ya know what I mean," he chuckled, waggling his eyebrows. Guillermo did not know what Colin Robinson meant and quickly decided he would prefer to continue living in a world where he did not know what Colin Robsinson meant.

"You... might want to lay low for the next few days,” he advised instead. "And maybe, uh," he reached into his doublet pocket and retrieved a rosary, tossing it over to Colin Robinson, who caught it against his chest. “Maybe wear this for like, the next week.”

"Neat!" Colin Robinson chirped, pulling the rosary over his head like a necklace. The crucifix dangled at crotch height, because of course it did. “See you later, Crocodile!” he said, turning to leave.

“Wait,” Guillermo called, then sighed. “...How long do you think he’s going to be like this?” he asked, gesturing at his fallen husband.

“Dunno," Colin Robinson said with a shrug. "Could be looking at two hours, could be an all-dayer. Depends on the constitution. Eaudeohws!”

Colin Robinson proceeded to skip down the hall, leaving Guillermo alone with Nandor (Jenna had eagerly taken his suggestion to make herself scarce th moment Nandor started trying to unleash hell onto the energy vampire). He dithered for a moment before sitting on the floor a few feet from his husband’s crumpled frame, crossing his legs and taking out his girdle book to look over the notes he'd taken at the Temple of Blood Devourers.

At the time of his wedding Guillermo had assumed he would have a year, maybe even two years, to figure out how to restabilize Daptes. He’d made that estimate based on what little he could observe and deduce about the Empire as an outsider. 

It wasn’t easy to get detailed intelligence about the inner workings of a revenant nation as a slayer, at least while said nation was functioning. Vampires could be quite clannish, and infiltration by humans was difficult and extremely dangerous. The broad strokes making up the timeline of an empire's rise and fall-- the progressive expansion of territory, approximate dates of raids, incidents of aggression or all out war with other factions-- could generally be tracked, as these events were very difficult to cover up completely. But when it came to the internal political intricacies involving the construction and destruction of undead republics, most of what mortal historians knew was reconstructed based on information that had come to light _after_ their collapse. 

Fortunately for slayer scholars, prominent vampires who survived the collapse of a nation liked to afterwards write and disseminate long, detailed, angry pamphlets valorizing themselves and blaming other vampires for things going wrong-- both for the sake of their public image and their own pride. These documents were relatively easy to acquire, given they typically circulated widely into other supernatural communities. Of course this meant having to hew the lurid details from dozens of often contradictory and inflammatory accounts until the most likely truth was uncovered, which was no simple task. But it was worth the effort if only because vampires slandering each other was typically how slayers found out most notable vampires’ weaknesses. (There were a lot of pamphlets complaining that Nandor had killed the second best warrior in their army for setting fire to a supply of hay he had pillaged for his personal stables, or that he was useless for covert work because he was a terrible hypnotist, or that he’d spent three nights refusing to work because he was in mourning for one of his horses despite being on an active battlefield at the time.) 

Daptes had managed to put off its own catastrophic end for decades now, and in absence of enlightening tell-all pamphlets much of its history remained shrouded in secrecy. Now that Guillermo had filled in the blanks for himself, the picture it painted was far grimmer than he’d imagined. Based on the numbers in Blavglad’s books, assuming blood supply management continued on as it currently was, the Empire would be lucky to make it eight more months before the trend became irreversible. Not even remotely enough time for the cities Nandor had levelled to recover. 

Things needed to change, and those changes had to be dramatic and immediate. The vampires needed to go back to their original elixir supplier and fork over as many coins as needed to buy the correct amount. They needed to implement strict rationing in accordance with need. They needed to find a way to incentivize humans to repopulate their territory. 

_Well, thats going to go great,_ Guillermo thought to himself with caustic sarcasm, _those are basically vampires’ three favorite things in the world: recognizing when they’ve fucked up, practicing restraint even when it means letting other people have more than they do, and admitting they desperately need the cooperation of humans. Not to mention taking advice from a Vampire Slayer._

Guillermo’s best chance, really the _only_ chance he could see, of getting things turned around for Daptes was to have Nandor on his side. But Nandor wouldn’t even admit there was a blood shortage in the first place. In fact, Guillermo was starting to worry that he didn’t know there even _was_ a blood shortage, or at least didn’t realize how bad it was. His refusal to consider that a shortage existed had seemed like evidence of guilty knowledge, but he issued that denial in a dismissive, perplexed manner-- in contrast to the panicked, cagey way he’d denied locking Guillermo into their house, or taking a liking to a pigeon. And there was also the fact that Nandor was staying in the Capital instead of going out on an invasion to capture new humans-- which had puzzled Guillermo until he’d learned how integral Nandor had been to causing the problem, and that there was practically speaking nowhere left worth invading.

Knowing what he did now, Guillermo was nurturing a growing suspicion that the truth, or at least the full truth, was being actively kept from Nandor.

Guillermo appreciated, of course, that it was entirely possible that Nandor could be maintaining his obliviousness all on his own, simply because he just had no interest in looking further than his own nose about anything. But it wasn’t hard to see why the Empress might be motivated to keep Nandor in the dark about such a big problem. Nandor was among the Empire's best assets, but he also presented the most danger to its leaders. The Empress and her court, the Council, probably feared he might stage a coup if he knew what a precarious situation Daptes was in. And have a good chance at achieving success given his reputation, his aptitude for military strategy, and the loyalty he commanded amongst his soldiers. But he wouldn’t have all that much to gain from a coup, besides an empire already at the verge of collapse. 

More likely the vampires Nandor worked with were scared he’d leave. At best he could resign from his position and cut ties with Daptes entirely, fueling rumors of the Empire’s decline and severely impairing their ability to avoid conflict with other nations through sheer intimidation. At worst, he could take a better offer from another nation. Guillermo couldn’t think of any vampire nations-- hell, he could think of only a handful of _mortal_ nations-- who would pass up the chance to poach Nandor.

Even if one left aside the value of his personal aptitude at waging violence on both individual and mass scales, Nandor knew the specific details of Daptes military capacity and defense systems like the back of his hand. It followed that he would thus know their weak points and how to exploit these just as well. Being one of the key figures that had built Daptes meant that he’d also be particularly well equipped to strip it for parts and burn it to the ground. Not to mention the very real possibility that, should Nandor defect, a substantial chunk of their military might well choose to go with him, hedging their bets with Nandor rather than with the Empress and her Council.

The thought occurred to Guillermo that this could very well be Nandor’s plan. His hunch that Nandor didn’t know could be wrong, and this could offer an alternative explain why Nandor wasn’t all that worried-- because he already knew exactly how bad it was, and he wasn’t planning on being in Daptes when shit hit the wind. Perhaps he was planning on coasting for a month or two while he squeezed out the last dregs of what the Empire offered him and cruised for the best offer out there. 

Another thought occurred to Guillermo then-- that, if this were the case, Nandor would probably be planning to rid himself of him. Given the vampire seemed so profoundly disappointed with his human husband, he wouldn't have any reason to keep Guillermo around, and might be best served by him dying directly before Nandor defected. Not only would it remove Guillermo’s undesirable presence from his life and reduce the number of loose ends he left, but he could play Guillermo’s death to his own political benefit. If Nandor took credit for killing him, he could advertise it as a sign of loyalty to his new nation. If he claimed Guillermo had died due to a failure of Daptes’ leadership, or even on their orders, it would provide a seemingly noble reason to seek revenge against Daptes while also wrecking the alliance with Trestait. Of course the vampire might decide to sell Guillermo into the slave trade instead. Nandor might not see Guillermo’s appeal, but Grendel had certainly implied he was worth a great deal of money.

 _(Well, maybe then I could get laid_ , Guillermo thought. He screwed his eyes shut and smacked his book against his forehead to banish the unreasonable and horny voice in his head. _No, Guillermo,_ he thought to himself. _This is real life, not a masturbation session. Getting sold into sex slavery is a_ bad _thing which you want to_ avoid _. Think with your brain not your dick.)_

Could _that_ have been why Nandor had gotten so distraught at Guillermo’s absence? Because he’d already figured out how he planned to use Guillermo as leverage, and having him dead ahead of schedule would compromise his plan? Because if Guillermo had been found in the Temple of Blood Devourers it could lead to increased scrutiny from the Empress? Guillermo glanced at his husband’s prone body, still as death on the floor. Maybe he could get some answers out of Nandor when he awoke.


	37. Parched

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Nandor resists temptation.

Nandor awoke some time later, his face squashed against the floor and his limbs heavy and splayed akimbo. The accursed Colin Robinson had drained him of his life force, plunging him into a thick and gummous slumber, and he returned to the waking world exhausted and famished. He hissed half-heartedly, though the energy vampire towards which he intended the sentiment had surely departed as soon as Nandor had fallen to unconsciousness. He groped for an explanation as to why he had not murdered Colin Robinson outright, finding his answer as he slit open his eyelids and the lines of salt composing a powerful warding circle came into focus. Nandor had no internal sense of how much time had passed since he’d flown into a rage at Colin Robinson, and so he could not judge if the hour was that of day or night. He peered about groggily without lifting his face, but learned little from his survey. 

"You've been out for about three hours now," Guillermo's voice called from somewhere behind him. "In case you're wondering." 

Nandor’s body jolted, his chest expanding as he inhaled reflexively, scenting human, scenting _blood_. In the second before Guillermo had spoken he had been so wretchedly exhausted that he could barely raise his head-- but in the presence of prey his nerves surged with adrenaline and his muscles twitched and jerked. The needed to feed was vast and powerful, shrieking in his ears like the wind in a sandstorm. _No_ , his mind shouted, defiant to the forces threatening to bury it. No, he could not hurt the human, this was _his_ human. This was his _Guillermo_. Nandor managed to keep his instincts tethered, but only just. His fangs ached as he grit his teeth against the desperate, ancient hunger that thrashed in his stomach, a need that would not be denied satiation for long.

"Away," he managed to wheeze out, clenching his hands into fists. His talons unsheathed from the tips of his fingers, piercing through the material of his gloves and biting into his palms. "Leave me, mortal."

"No need to be so dramatic, Nandor," Guillermo snorted, footsteps and scent and warmth and gushing, luscious _blood_ approaching without any apparent caution for the peril his life was in.

" _ **Leave**!"_ Nandor roared with all the force he could muster, and the human's footsteps mercifully halted. "You must fetch the familiar to me," he rasped "at _once_."

The human did not move at first, and everything in Nandor _ached_ to pounce, to fall upon his husband and drain him of the nectar of his life, to feast upon that sweet ambrosia which had sang into his mouth and down his throat. Then the human sighed and, to his profound relief and wretched disappointment, turned and walked away. 

Nandor waited for the human to venture deep into the house before he took the risk of shifting to his side. He curled his body inwards and grasped his arms-- talons cutting through the fabric of his sleeves and burying themselves within the flesh of his arms. From his new position he could see, faintly, a pattern cast on the floor, wrought by the passage of sunbeams through the jaali above the door. He hissed warily at the faint puddle of light. It had been many centuries since Nandor had navigated time by daylight, but moonlight was not so different, and so he could tell that it was somewhere around the hour of noon. And that, fortunately, he was well outside the arc across which the luminescent pattern would travel as the sun sank unto its setting. 

Nandor’s ears pricked at the approach of footsteps down the hall. There were two sets, one Guillermo's. He growled lowly in irritation. 

"Familiar humans only! Husband humans must go away!" he shouted before the mortals could arrive within scenting range. After a moment he heard the set of footsteps belonging to Guillermo move away, and the hesitant approach of the human familiar Jenna.

"Blood," he snapped to the girl once he was certain his husband had gotten away. "The icebox, go and fetch a bottle and bring it here." 

"Yes Master,” Jenna sniveled. “I'll light a fire and put your blood on the stove right away."

"Do not bother heating it, just bring it _now_ ," Nandor commanded. It was surely the gnawing hunger warping his senses, but even this familiar was smelling almost _edible_ now. He briefly considered sating his thirst with her blood, but as Guillermo had apparently formed an... _attachment_ , to her, it followed that he would be displeased by her death.

"I-" the mortal began.

"Now!" Nandor barked, exhausted by her insolence.

"Yes Master," she squeaked, scurrying away at last. _Finally_.

How much time passed before the familiar returned, Nandor could not say. He only knew that at some point she was back, holding a bottle out to him with trembling hands.

Nandor snatched it immediately, lest she drop the vessel, then pried the cork from its neck with his teeth and spat it out. He tipped the bottle to pour into his mouth. The blood was cold, _repulsively_ so, but he forced it down rather than let his thirst persist unabated a moment more. He managed to swallow half the vessel’s contents before he could no longer stomach it. He took deep, heaving breaths and fought to suppress the nausea that threatened to induce him to purge the contents of his stomach. Once he'd managed to settle his gut, once the gnawing edge of his hunger had been blunted, he turned his head to find the familiar watching him warily. He rose to his feet, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

"Follow," he ordered, heading for the human food preparation chamber. She followed. Upon arriving in the little room he handed the bottle back to her. "Heat up the remainder of this," he commanded, leaning against the wall. Jenna did so, glancing towards him warily from the corner of her eye as she worked.

Nandor did not wait for her to declare her duty completed-- as soon as he could smell that the blood had reached an edible temperature he reached past the little human and pulled the pot from the stovetop. He put it to his lips and began to gulp it down, rivulets seeping through his beard and trickling down his neck-- an irritating but unavoidable consequence of supping from such a wide mouthed container. When he at last drained the vessel he let it clatter to the floor and released a heavy breath.

“Clean this up,” he ordered Jenna with a distracted wave of his hand as he departed. 

Nandor found his husband in his crypt. At first the vampire remained silent, watching over Guillermo as he sat at his little desk and scribbled in his little book, an expression of deep focus creasing his mortal brow. Nandor lingered beside the threshold of the room until he was certain that his unholy appetite had abated enough that he could control himself in his human husband’s presence. 

"Why did you allow for Colin Robinson to take you to the Temple of Blood Devourers?” Nandor asked. The human’s little writing stick stilled for a moment before jumping back into motion.

“I misplaced something there, during the party,” Guillermo answered briskly. “Do you have any meetings for the next five days?”

“I- wh-” the vampire fumbled with the shift in topic before deciding the question to be impertinent and thus to be ignored. “What was it that you misplaced that was so important that you would think it acceptable to venture out to retrieve it, mortal?”

“A Handkerchief,” Guillermo said.

“A handker- If you needed one of those so badly you could simply have _told_ me!” Nandor exclaimed. “I could have acquired for you a _thousand_ handkerchiefs, human! I could acquire them like this,” he snapped his fingers to indicate the speed and ease with which he could have acquired a vast number of fabric rectangles for Guillermo’s use. The gesture served as an irritating reminder of his now ruined glove, which he regarded with an annoyed growl. He bit into the leather fingertips of the garment and pulled it off of his hand before doing the same to its counterpart, tossing both atop his vanity. “You could have been killed!” he added, turning his attention back to Guillermo.

“This handkerchief has sentimental value,” the human said evenly, calmly. Despite his apparent aplomb Nandor could see the glances he gave to his hands, clearly intimidated by the sight of his talons. “Now, do you have meetings or not? Because I want to get the irrigation system working as soon as possible, and if the skies stay clear I could start as early as-”

“ _Already_ you are plotting for your next sneaking away?” Nandor blurted out as he realized what his human was getting at, throwing his hands into the air in exasperated disbelief . “Well, I will have you be knowing that I do _not_ have _any_ meetings at all. I will be staying right here, and I will take pains to ensure you will _not_ be leaving the house without _my_ accompaniment,” he asserted.

“So you agree to accompany me then,” Guillermo replied with a cheerful smile. “Great. We’ll go night after next.” He turned immediately back to his book. Nandor blinked, somewhat unclear on what had just happened, and then furrowed his brow. 

“ _No_ , mortal, I made no such promise,” he said slowly, carefully, uncertain how the human had formed the conception that Nandor had agreed to this. Especially given he had of late been a very naughty human husband, what with the sneakings out and the refusing to read letters and the reckless behaviors. That he should expect Nandor to respond to such transgressions by offering chaperone further human out of doors times was absurd. Perhaps his thinking was addled by lack of sleep? Sleep was very important to the working of humans brainses. 

“It is daylight still, human,” he noted. The human did not respond. Very addled, then. "Daylight time means it is time for going to coffin," he explained patiently.

"So go to coffin then," Guillermo replied. "I'm not stopping you."

Nandor huffed, his patience immediately running thin.

"You must also go to your human nest. Humans are needing sleep too," he said.

Guillermo made a scoffing noise and returned to scribbling. Nandor frowned to himself, looking at the bed he’d had installed in his crypt for the benefit of his husband. Nandor had not slept in a bed for a long time, and the beds which humans used these days were very different from those he’d had in al Quolanudar. Most vampires who had a bed these days only used them as novelty luxury sex having platforms. Did the human not like it? Was this yet another shortcoming for which he resented Nandor?

“It is a nice nest, no?” he asked hesitantly. “It is soft and spacious sufficiently to accommodate your form, correct?” Guillermo sighed, his scribbling ceasing.

“It's a surprisingly decent bed, yeah.” he conceded. Nandor stood a little taller at that. Good. The human was not yet _entirely_ unreasonable.

“So then you will retire to it now, yes?” the vampire prompted.

“I’ll go to bed if you agree to let me finish the irrigation system repairs once there’s enough moonlight,” Guillermo countered. Nandor scowled.

“I shall not do this mud peasant labor for you, you know,” he cautioned, hoping this would dissuade the human from pressing the matter. “Even if you ask very politely, which you have not.”

“I’m not asking you to,” Guillermo said. He was looking more fully at Nandor, more carefully now. “Your hair is a mess again, you know.”

“Well, my hairs have not been combed for several nights, due to _your_ petulance,” Nandor retorted, hiking his shoulders upwards.

“I’ll comb your hair once you promise to let me work on the irrigation system,” Guillermo said. Nandor hissed quietly. “Do you agree or not?” the human asked, not waiting for his husband’s answer. “If not, you can go to coffin looking like a mess and I’ll just catch up on sleep tonight. You should like that, you’ll barely have to see me.”

“Alright alright I agree already, _yeesh_ ,” Nandor conceded mercifully, grimacing. A lacking of sleep clearly made his human very argumentative. Best to discuss his other concerns later.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I'm so behind on replying to comments! I truly cherish them and I'm working on catching up lol.


	38. Delivery

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Nandor takes (misguided) precautions, gets laid out by a vegetable, and receives something long awaited.

Nandor raised his head at the sound of his human’s voice faintly calling for him. The vampire had secluded himself into his study soon after sunset, and could distinctly recall that the mortal had said he would not plead to be let out of doors until at least one night further had passed. He hesitated to answer to this beckoning, wary of being lured into some manner of trap. 

"Nandor,” Guillermo called again, “Can you come down? I need your help, someone's at the door." 

Nandor stood abruptly upon registering this detail, quitting his desk and shoving open the door of his study. He rushed down the stairs, the handle of his sword clasped tightly in his fist.

“Oh, good, you’re here,” his human said in relief, smiling at Nandor as he arrived in the vestibule. The vampire felt a buzzing in his insides, like flies swarming unto the organs of a disemboweled corpse, and cleared his throat. He opened his mouth to assure Guillermo that no interloper would be permitted entrance into Nandor’s house, that he would bid this would-be-trespasser to leave or else slaughter them where they stood. Before he could provide this assurance, however, the human spoke again: “I need you to unlock the door.”

"Unlock," Nandor echoed, confused, "the door?"

Guillermo nodded. 

"This is the delivery I've been waiting for. I need to sign for it," he said, miming scribbling into the air. Nandor stared blankly at the mortal, who was no longer smiling but in fact looked entirely unamused. "Maybe I'll ask Colin Robinson,” Guillermo suggested dispassionately, “I'm sure he'd love to h-"

Nandor growled with irritation and strode forward. He stuck out his arm, herding his husband back from the door and then stepping in front of him so that the human would be thereby shielded.

“You will remain behind me,” he ordered.

With one hand he reached into his pocket, from which he retrieved a ring of keys (having determined it more judicious, for now, to keep these directly upon his person) and fit one into the lock. With the other hand he drew his blade, carefully shifting his stance, rocking his weight back onto his heel in preparation to leap into motion if needed. In one swift motion he wrenched the door open and thrust forth his scimitar so that the point of it crossed the threshold.

“Heidy ho, deliver-" the person on the other side of the door sang in greeting, before flinching away and yelping, "Jeepers!” 

Nandor eyed the individual before him, quickly determining them to be an energy vampire, which was an excellent choice of agent for a covert assassination. They were wearing a silly brightly particolored cap and doublet, which was a terrible choice of clothing for a covert assassination.

“Identify yourself!” Nandor demanded. “For what purposes do you disturb me?”

“Like I _just_ told you Nandor, he has a package for me,” Guillermo piped up from behind him, completely undermining his attempts to hide his husband from sight. Nandor hissed softly in annoyance.

“Uh, yeah,” the energy vampire said, nervously rubbing his nose with the back of his hand ( _eugh_ ) before pointing at a wooden crate with a small cloth draped object sitting upon it. “One medium sized crate and one specialty package here for a Gill-elmo de la Cruhz,” he read carefully from a sheet of paper. Nandor narrowed his eyes.

“Leave the wares and begone from my doorstep,” he commanded.

“Sure thing daddy-o,” the energy vampire replied with a smack of his lips, “I just need signature of receipt from the Gill Man.” He held out a leaf of paper and a dipped quill which Nandor snatched. The objects were moist with sweat, and Nandor sneered in displeasure. He scrutinized the words on the paper carefully. There was nothing which seemed amiss until he attended to the cost listed.

“Where did you get the funds for this, mortal?” Nandor inquired of his husband. “I did not leave this many coins in the money dish.”

“The- wait, the _what_?” Guillermo asked.

“The money dish. The dish with the money in it for you to use.” Nandor explained, wary of his human’s recalcitrance to answering this simple question. “The dish in the room with the coins of the money upon it. The money I have allowed to you for spending at your discretion.”

“You haven’t mentioned that to me even _once_ ,” Guillermo muttered. 

“I think that most probably I _did_ ,” Nandor asserted.

“Either way, I bought all of this with my own money,” the human claimed. “I left most of my savings in Trestait with my family in case I needed them to order things for me.”

Ah, yes, Nandor had forgotten that his human’s family were quite wealthy from their generations of employment in the trade of slaughtering vampires. Judging from Guillermo’s entitlement, Nandor found it doubtless that they allotted him a generous stipend. He wondered what items might be within the parcels. Perhaps fanciful novels to entertain his imagination. Perhaps a rich tonic for the hairs or skin which smelled of cinnamon. Perhaps more of those shiny silk breeches which were very _very_ tight. Perhaps a fine silk sleeping gown that would enrobe his soft flesh and cling tantalizingly to every swell and curve of his body. Nandor’s mouth felt dry.

“Nandor?” Guillermo prompted pointedly. Nandor grunted and shoved the paper and quill behind him towards the human, who took them. After a moment Nandor felt the mortal’s weight pressing against the middle of his back. He made a very dignified and not at all embarrassing snort of surprise, his hairs standing up on end as the human held the document flat against the plane of his back with one hand, and with the other rendered his signature upon it. “There,” the human muttered, his body retreating from Nandor and his hand thrusting the signed receipt and quill forward. Nandor scrutinized the document once more, before passing it on to the person at his doorstep.

“ _Now_ begone,” he said, almost moving to cross his arms but then remembering his brandished scimitar and instead using a small jab to emphasize his point. The energy vampire made haste to scamper away. “Be staying inside,” Nandor ordered Guillermo. He stepped outside, circling the parcels with his sword still drawn. He growled and prodded the side of the crate with the point of his blade. 

”Por Dios,” the human muttered beneath his breath before raising his voice in imploration. “Don’t you dare stab my supplies, Nandor! You could ruin them. Just bring the crate inside.” 

The edges of Nandor’s mouth twitched downwards. “If I bring the crate within my home it would count as an invitation to any assassins contained within,” he explained. “I must clear it first.” 

“There aren’t going to be any assassins. My family knows how to take precautions against that. Just let me open it,” Guillermo pleaded.

Nandor grunted and returned his scimitar to it’s scabbard, feigning to humor the mortal. He would need both hands for the next bit anyway. He pulled off his gloves and hung them on his belt, then leaned in and grasped opposing edges of the crate. He wedged the tips of his talons between the lid and the body of the container. With a little effort (and some wiggling to loosen the nails) he pried the top off, tossing it aside and reaching for his sword. He was unsuccessful in drawing it, however, for before his fingers could even encircle the hilt he was struck with the oppressive miasma of _garlic_. Nandor hissed and reared back, losing his footing and falling to the ground. He choked on the overpowering fetor of the foul plants, pinching his nostrils closed and blinking rapidly in an attempt to focus his swimming gaze and disperse the blotches of color that burst in his vision. His ears perceived, to his horror, the sound of Guillermo approaching his location. 

“I tried to warn you,” his husband’s voice said. 

“Human, go back, insssside,” Nandor ordered, his words slurring into a hiss and then trailing off into a cough as the reek of the vegetables burned his lungs. He struggled against the repulsive power of the garlic and the clawing grip of unconsciousness, attempting to rise with little success. 

“In a second,” Guillermo replied, refusing to heed him. He reached into the crate and retrieved the wretched braid of garlic planted there, then took up the smaller cloth covered parcel, bringing both inside. Nandor’s stomach turned at the thought of such a substance being brought into his home, but it was not as if he could do anything about it at the moment. 

A few seconds passed before Nandor managed to regain his faculties enough to rise to his feet. Though the stinging scent of the vegetables remained, clinging to the air, its active warding influence was dissipating fairly quickly. He contemplated abandoning the crate outside in order to punish Guillermo, but it would be strategically unwise. At least Nandor could be assured that the container was empty of stowaways-- no vampire could possibly endure confinement with such a quantity of garlic. Nandor grabbed onto the box’s rim and dragged it behind him into the vestibule.

He had just locked the door when Guillermo hastened back down the hall. Nandor looked pointedly away to convey his displeasure with the mortal’s behavior.

Unfortunately his husband did not seem to notice this, being fixated upon his delivery. Nandor observed from the corner of his eye as the human’s face lit with glee as he gazed over whatever bounty was within the box. He muttered to himself in his human tongue as he began to unpack his delivery-- whooping excitedly when he uncovered what appeared to Nandor to be a sack of the sort which stored horses’ oats. Guillermo lofted the grain bag with obvious delight. He emitted a sound of satisfied pleasure and then _embraced_ the bag, spinning around and then ducking his head to, to _smooch_ upon the object.

What was so special about this oatsack, that it was sending his husband into such frenzies of joy? Guillermo had claimed not to want the food of horses. Had that been another test issued by the mortal? A lie which Nandor was meant to see through?

“What is this object you are fawning over?” he demanded of the mortal, narrowing his eyes.

“Flour,” Guillermo replied, placing it on the ground. Nandor frowned, unenlightened by this explanation. "Oh, before I forget, there's something for you too."

"I have no need of human parcels," Nandor said.

"I think you'd change your mind if you knew what it was," Guillermo said, his smile narrowing into that feline smirk that made his face dimple _very_ attractively, his voice lilting into sing-song.

Despite his best wishes, Nandor found his curiosity to be rankled. "Well what is it then?" he demanded to know.

"Close your eyes," Guillermo said.

"What? Why? No," Nandor replied, shoulders hitching upwards.

"Come on Nandor. Its supposed to be a surprise!" the human cajoled him.

"Then I am _especially_ not going to close my eyes," Nandor decreed, very hostile to this idea of being taken by surprise.

"Alright, fine," Guillermo relented, rolling his eyes heavily. He lifted the smaller cloth-covered package and pulled the material off, revealing... 

"It is... another birdy?" Nandor asked, staring at the pigeon sitting in the small wicker enclosure. The vampire was uncertain why this would be something for _him_ , given he had no need to send letters to a human kingdom. Before he could point this out, though, his eyes were drawn to the band on the bird’s leg. "It is _Jessica!_ " he exclaimed, taking the cage from Guillermo’s hands and lofting it higher into the air, grinning at Jessica. "She has returned to us!" he marveled, exhilarated by her presence. He laughed in pleasure and lowered the enclosure to the level of his eye. 

“Jessica, it is I, Nandor the Relentless,” he said in a quieter voice, cautiously poking his forefinger through the wicker lattice wall of the travelling cage. Jessica tilted her head, surveyed the digit for a moment, and then attempted to peck at his ring. “She remembers me,” Nandor announced. “She has a very good memory,” he noted proudly, grinning aside at his husband.

“I’m glad you like it,” the mortal said, offering a soft smile in return.


	39. Attempt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which An Attempt Is Made, and subsequently thwarted, by Nandor.

Perhaps Nandor should have brought forward the matter of Guillermo’s overventuresome behavior at that point, when the human had been riding the high of receiving his little sack of flowers. But the vampire had himself been abask in the triumph of Jessica’s return, and became diverted by the task of settling her back into her quarters. Further, it had taken some time for Nandor to fully recount to Jessica the events which had come to pass in the nights since her departure. 

He might have broached the subject the following night, but that he’d found Guillermo to be fervidly engaged in the human rituals of the kit-chen. And though it was _highly_ inconveniencing that these ceremonies apparently required the human to monopolize the familiar Jenna for the entirety of the night, Nandor decided to allow them as they seemed to place the human into a jovial mood. 

And so he came to this night, which had begun with Guillermo demanding Nandor make good on his word to supervise him as he dug his little furrows into the dirt. Nandor, being a vampire of great honor and generosity, did in fact deign to escort him on these chores, having first made it abundantly clear that he would lend no hand to the mortal. 

Though Guillermo had claimed an intent perform these labors himself, Nandor was certain that the mortal expected him to do all the work. He was determined not to succumb to such a trap. The little mortal wished to try his hand at playacting a peasant? Fine! Let him suffer blisters upon his plump delicate fingers from wielding roughly hewn implements of labor. Let him suffer the sore-ed muscles from his exertion. He would soon learn he was taking no stroll in a rose garden. Nandor would stand by as the human suffered the repercussions of his posturing, and he would feel only indifference. The vampire’s only concern had been that this refusal to bend to the mortal’s whims might render Guillermo in ill humor, and thus less receptive to accepting the reprimanding Nandor planned to issue upon their return to his house.

Unfortunately, Nandor’s plan had failed to take certain possibilities into account.

Such as that Guillermo might forgo the stiff, structured doublet jackets he generally donned, so that only the thin linen of his tunic obscured the soft forms of his chest and belly. And that the perspiration Guillermo shed in his exertion might cause the fabric, translucent with moisture, to cling to the bare skin beneath. And that each time he swung his pickaxe or tossed aside a shovelful of dirt the linen might shift, peel from some surfaces and affix to others-- so that the fullness of his tempting shape could not be observed all at once, so that his sensual figure was alternatingly brazenly advertised and flirtatiously veiled from Nandor’s view. And that with every motion his flesh might quiver and ripple in coy hinting of the motion of muscles at the human's core.

The sight of his human so audaciously flaunting himself was proving troublesome to Nandor in a number of ways. For one, it was coercing his penis into a persistent state of semi-erection which he had no current means to covertly extinguish, which was making it impossible for Nandor to be properly vigilant to danger. For another, Nandor could not discern if the mortal was tantalizing him purposefully or else putting on this display without awareness, and he was uncertain which option would be worse. Was Guillermo attempting to manipulate him, or was he ignorant of the urges he was provoking in Nandor? This was exactly the sort of thing which Nandor had wished to confront Guillermo about, this lack of care and awareness towards his own safety. The human was endangering himself. 

"Mortal, we must have a talking between us at once," Nandor announced, unable to tolerate this madness any longer. Guillermo looked up from the little dirt pathways he was forming and toward his husband. His skin was glowing in the moonlight, his brow and cheeks dusted with a sheen of glittering sweat. His face was flushed slightly with exertion and vitality, his hair a flyaway mop of curls that fell haphazardly from the crown of his head and around his face like a halo of shadows and satin and thorns. Nandor sucked at his teeth, wincing at the sight as a mortal might wince at morning daylight after a long and arduous night.

"Seriously?" Guillermo asked after a moment of silence, "Now, of all times?"

"Are you not always pestering me for such things, human?" Nandor countered. 

"I mean, yeah, but you've always- Nevermind,” the mortal cut himself off, shaking his head. He jammed the spade of his shovel down into the ground and leaned upon the handle, parting the seal of his mouth with a swipe of his tongue. His chest was still heaving from his labor. A bead of sweat was making its way down his neck, crawling towards the hollow of his throat. “What do you want to talk about?” he asked, 

...What was it that Nandor had been meaning to talk to him about again? He searched his memory frantically for a few seconds before hitting upon the answer.

“We must discuss your recent behaviors,” he said.

"Alright," Guillermo said. Then he did not say anything more, leaving it entirely up to Nandor to continue the conversation.

"Well, it is…” Nandor began, before deciding he disliked that beginning and would start over. “The troubles is..." he tried, before determining that he did not like that either. " _You_ are making my job very difficult, human." he settled on, poking a finger towards Guillermo’s chest. “I am meant to be watching you. And to be protecting you. And to ensure that all of your blood remains on the inside of you. And you keep behaving in ways which make likely the opposite. I am uncertain if you are doing these things as a way of rebelling against me or are simply lackwitted. Just two nights ago, when I had been drained to the point of unconsciousness-- what did you do but loiter about, all full of juicy blood, until I awoke? You are lucky that I had sufficient control of myself so that I did not pounce upon you and sink my fangs into your throat!" 

“Yeah, lucky,” Guillermo muttered. His face was placid, but his eyes would not meet Nandor’s own and his heart rate, which had been steadily descending ever since he’d ceased his physical exertions, picked up noticeably. He was frightened. Good, he should be frightened by such a prospect. 

“And this is far from the first occurrence, human,” Nandor continued, a feeling stirring in his chest at this reminder that he so terrified his husband which he decided was a feeling of being totally fine and not bothered at all. “There are a thousand other instances of recklessness I could name! Allowing Colin Robinson to take you into the Temple of Blood Devourers. Flaunting your blood in front of other vampires at the party. Speaking in highly disrespectful and provocative manners. Vacating your salted circle when I had bid you remain. Need I continue, mortal?”

The human thinned his lips, doubtless preparing to say something impudent. 

And then there was a sound-- soft and distant and almost smothered under the whistling wind-- like the beat of a bird's wing, like the snap of a banner flying in a high gale.

Nandor pounced upon his husband immediately, knocking the human to the ground just in time to deflect the arrow which had been flying towards his neck. The intercepted bolt skidded across the plate of his armor with an abortive screech, as if outraged at being denied its quarry. 

Nandor ripped his cape from his shoulders and laid the dark material overtop Guillermo to better obscure the mortal from view. Mindful of the fact that his husband had nearly flailed into harm's way when Nandor had rescued him from the perverts, he pinned the mortal down, straddled him around his middle and boxed his arms in flush to his sides with his knees. As he predicted the mortal began to thrash, kicking his legs and shaking his head to and fro in an attempt to free himself. 

“ _Stop that_ ,” he snarled, leaning overtop the human and pressing down all of his weight upon him, giving a low warning growl that rattled through his chest. An arrow struck the vampire's unguarded flank, finding the gap between his plating with a deep, wet thump. Nandor grunted sharply but remained still rather than leave Guillermo unshielded. A second bolt flinched off of his armor but a third found home beneath the first with an echoing thud. The mortal at last stilled, allowing Nandor to raise his head and scan the skies for the assailant. 

He honed in on a flicker of motion, a small dark form directly overhead, a bat. There was another soft, distant noise. Nandor turned just in time to knock the bolt hurtling towards his back out of the air, hissing softly as the movement dug the arrows piercing his side deeper into his flesh. He reached to his hip, retrieving one of his daggers. He aimed the knife carefully before letting it fly towards his assailant, and then quick as lightning sent its sibling covertly in its wake.

The other vampire managed to escape the first blade but, as Nandor had predicted, failed to regroup quickly enough to evade it's successor. Nandor had hoped to strike the vampire's heart, but the vampire had been slow and clumsy in dodging his first missile and so his kard had instead hit the meat of his shoulder. This should at least render the assassin far less capable with his crossbow (an amateurish weapon, Nandor noted contemptuously, requiring no real skill to wield).

Nandor had only one dagger left. His hand darted to his side, finding the shaft of one of the bolts embedded there. He ripped the arrow free, turned it between his fingers and aimed it like a dart before hurling it at the airborne vampire. He followed this arrow with his last dagger, banking on the assassin falling for the same trick twice. Instead the assassin did not even manage to dodge the _decoy_ missile, being too preoccupied with trying to reload his weapon (Nandor was starting to be feeling a little insulted that such a shit-grade assassin had been sent after him). The vampire let out a screech as the arrow sunk into his arm, transforming into a bat and attempting to flee. He posed a smaller, faster target this way, but one far more vulnerable to gross injury. 

Nandor attempted to remove the second arrow from his flank, but the curved blades on each side of its head jammed between his ribs, the metal point uncoupling from the thin wooden shaft to which it had been lashed, rendering the arrow inoperable. Nandor hissed quietly in frustration at the now useless object. He cast around for the arrow he’d swatted out of the air, or at least those which had glanced off of his armor but could not spy any within arm’s reach. 

Nandor glared at the retreating form of the other vampire. He itched to take flight and pursue, to slaughter him for his clumsy trespasses, but he would not. He could not abandon Guillermo. He growled in the would-be-assassin's wake and drew his sword in case another, more competent, attack was incoming. 

After a few minutes of wary watchfulness he cautiously lowered his blade. He leaned forward, grasping the edge of his cape and peeling it carefully back to expose Guillermo’s head. The mortal was staring ahead with a look of discontent, his mouth twisted in a scowl, his spectacles askew and his hair powdered with dirt.

“Mortal, you are unharmed, yes?” Nandor asked in tone which he might have preferred to be brusquer. The human muttered something unintelligible. “Shit shit shit shit _shit_ ,” Nandor cursed, dropping the hem of his cape and lightly battering the mortal’s cheeks with his open hands in hopes of jarring back into place whatever bits of brain that had been jostled out of order. “Come to senses now human,” he sang tremulously, “you are not allowed to have the broken brains, understood?”

“Nan- I’m _fine_ Nandor,” the human snapped, wriggling underneath him. Nandor let out a sight of relief. Thankfully his quick actions had righted his husband’s senses and spared the mortal from permanent discombobulation. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We might be in Nandor POV for a quite a number of chapters in a row (like 5 to 7 total counting from chapter 37) so like brace ur braincells.


	40. Excise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Nandor is subject to an invasive procedure.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content Warning for discussion of injury, a little implied gore.

"This is so fucking unfair," the mortal griped, settling his motions with a defeated huff and then squinting up at Nandor with a furrowed brow. "I can't believe there was finally an assassination attempt and _you_ got to thwart it."

“It _displeases_ you, mortal, that I have saved your life?" Nandor asked incredulously, crossing his arms and meeting the human's impudent expression with a glare of his own. “You are without doubt the most exceptionally _ungrateful_ human brat I have ever had the displeasure of encountering,” he muttered, peeling his lips from his fangs in a sneer. 

Guillermo made a discomfited face, the apples of his cheeks darkening with the flush of blood.

“I'm not, that's not what I meant,” he said, evidently recognizing how truly deplorable his attitude was and attempting to recant his words. But Nandor would not be so easily appeased.

“I hope that you will learn to curb this outrageous temperament of yours sooner rather than later," he remarked. "I do not relish the prospect of being forced to endure this sort of backtalk for the next two-hundred of years.“ 

Guillermo looked up at Nandor with a rather flat expression.

“You know, I’ve actually had relatives that lived past five-hundred,” he mused. Nandor’s mouth contorted into a grimace, his eyes widening with shock. He was weighted with immediate trepidation at the thought of having to resist the temptation his husband presented-- not to mention manage his constant banal inquiries and fussy needs and incensing defiance and reckless actings out-- for an additional _five centuries._ Guillermo sighed heavily, rolled his eyes upwards. “I’m joking, Nandor," he confessed. "Two-hundred years is about right.”

Nandor released a breath he’d not been aware of taking, nonetheless holding. A confusing flurry of emotions awakened in him, like bats spilling from the mouth of a cavern at twilight, at his husband's words. This confirmation should have relieved Nandor, for two-hundred years was not so long, really-- yet there was a part of him that felt suddenly frantic precisely _because_ it was not so long, really. Two centuries seemed suddenly such a finite amount of time. There could only ever be so many times Nandor would see Guillermo smile. Only so many times he would hear Guillermo laugh. Only so many times Guillermo would baffle and vex him with strange little gestures of care, or by asking questions and badgering him for answers. Only so long the scent of Guillermo’s living blood and warmth would tantalize Nandor’s senses. Nandor felt suddenly very disquieted, but why this was he could not say.

“Your cape is weirdly heavy,” Guillermo interjected into the vampire’s contemplation. "Why is it so fucking heavy?"

“It is heavy because it has a layer of the maille sewn inside of it," Nandor explained, "and also because I am sitting upon it.” Perhaps this was making the mortal uncomfortable? Nandor rose to his feet and stepped aside. Guillermo, newly enabled to freely move his arms, propped himself up on his elbows, Nandor’s cape sliding down his chest and pooling over his lap. The vampire bent to retrieve the garment, but the mortal made a noise of alarm and clung to the fabric, his face once more reddened.

"Can you just give me a second," he muttered gruffly. 

"What? What is it, human? You are not hiding an injury from me, are you?" Nandor asked, scrutinizing what he could see of the human’s form.

"No I just… I need a moment," he said, with evident embarrassment.

Nandor was puzzled until he realized that the human meant to convey that he wished to retain the soothing weight of the garment, at least until his shock and fear began to subside. Nandor could understand this, given the fright he’d recently endured. Nandor pushed aside the sentimental pleasure he felt at the thought of his human finding his clothing a sanctuary. He released the cape and made to rise until a pang of discomfort jarred through his torso like the strike of lighting. He hissed under his breath and, still doubled over, reached for the entry wound from which the pain radiated. He prodded at it but could discern little through the hide of his glove. He bit the cuff of his glove and peeled it from his hand, repeating his inspection with uncovered talons, but the arrowhead he sought remained stubbornly embedded between his ribs.

“What are you doing?” the human asked, looking at Nandor with concern which the vampire did not at all appreciate.

“Nothing,” Nandor replied, then rose to his full height, gritting his teeth in an attempt to smother the groan of pain the motion provoked. 

“Is part of an arrow still in there?” Guillermo asked, rising from beneath Nandor’s cape and quite rudely allowing it to crumple unceremoniously to the dirt. 

“Hey!” Nandor protested, “pick that up at _once_ , human.”

Guillermo blatantly ignored the order, coming to Nandor’s side and pulling his arm aside with a frown, reaching towards the wound.

“No touching!” Nandor snapped, smacking away his husband’s hand. “It is just the head of the arrow. It will heal in only a moment,” he assured the mortal.

“It will heal on the outside. On the _inside_ it will be tearing open a new wound every time you move," Guillermo said. "Depending on the angle and how deep it is, it could end up shearing your diaphragm into ribbons.”

“That is fine. Vampires do not need to breathe.” Nandor reminded his human.

“Yeah well tell that to your body, which is going to keep trying, and then hyperventilate when it thinks it’s dry drowning-- which is only going to gouge more holes in your diaphragm, probably your lungs too, and send you into convulsions. I’ve stabbed enough vampires to know that much,” Guillermo claimed. “You _also_ need it to talk, I’ll remind you,” he added with a sarcastic face. 

“I attempted to remove it and it is not removable," Nandor stated firmly. "I will simply cut it out later, at my home."

“And what will you do if it gets dislodged into your abdominal cavity on the way home?” Guillermo pressed. “Stabbed organs aside, you’ll have to practically disembowel yourself fishing around for the damn thing. Let me at least _try_ to remove it. My fingers are smaller than yours, and I also have the benefit of not being wounded.”

“If you insist, human, then I suppose I will have no choice but to allow you to try,” Nandor scoffed, tiring of this badgering. Once the human realized that this was an- “Ow!” the vampire yelped at the abrupt intrusion of a warm wriggling finger into his wound. “Hey!” he added in indignation when Guillermo withdrew only to dive back in with a second finger.

“Sorry about this,” Guillermo muttered. He reached into his doublet with his unoccupied hand and retrieved a little folding knife, which he opened by gripping the spine between his blunt human teeth and prising the blade out from it’s case.

“What are y- ow!” Nandor exclaimed as Guillermo pressed the point of the knife into the edge of his wound. He let out a guttural hiss as his husband's digits resumed their writhing motions. “Careful! You will cut your little human fingers!” he scolded the mortal.

“I’m pointing the blade out, my fingers will be fine,” Guillermo claimed.

“A little _warning_ next time, this would be nice,” Nandor noted tartly. 

“Okay, this thing is in deep," the human concluded, gaze focused intently upon his work. "I’m going to do something that’s going to hurt a _lot_ for like, one second, but then it should be over. I’m going to do it on the count of three. One... Two…”

On the count of three the human plunged the knife deeper into Nandor’s side and _twisted_ it. Nandor felt his ribs bow unnaturally from the intrusion and cursed through grit teeth, but true to Guillermo’s word the pain lasted but a moment before all invading bodies were retracted from his flesh. Nandor lowered his arm and rubbed his flank, watching as Guillermo carefully inspected the arrowhead.

"It looks like it's all intact," he said, pocketing the object and then looking up at Nandor. “I don’t suppose I could talk you into letting me finish up here...?”

Nandor squinted at the human, unamused.

“We are going back to the house, mortal,” he said, retrieving his cape and returning it to his shoulders. Guillermo sighed, but was for once wise enough not to squabble. Not wishing to waste another moment Nandor leaned down and scooped his human up, carrying him so that his arms were supporting his back and legs. He careened across the field and back to the house at supernatural speeds, slowing to a run a few feet before the door in order not to give Guillermo a skeletal injury from sudden stopping. The mortal smelled _especially_ strongly of cinnamon today, Nandor noted. He tried not to notice that his husband had reflexively place his arms around his shoulders in a clinging embrace, or that his heart was beating erratically.

“A little warning would be nice, next time,” Guillermo muttered, clearly shaken from his ordeal and awed by the impressive display of Nandor’s vampiric speed. Nandor grunted, lowered the human to his feet and unlocked the door, ushering the mortal inside before passing the threshold himself and locking the entrance firmly behind him. Nandor looked his husband up and down, vigilant for any injury that he might have overlooked in his initial inspection. The mortal's face was flushed very red and his heart was still pounding.

“ _You_ are a dirty little mortal,” Nandor chided.

“ _What?_ ” Guillermo half choked and half squeaked. Nandor raised a quizzical eyebrow and gestured at his human’s mud and dirt sullied vestments, the dark blood staining his hands and smudging the fabric of his doublet and tunic.

“The filth, human. You are in need of bathing,” he noted. “And laundering.”

“Oh,” Guillermo said, shoulders bowing. “Right. Well, takes one to know one,” he remarked, gesturing to Nandor’s own clothes. Nandor looked down at his body and was forced to concede the human’s point, if only privately. “I think you should go first, actually.”

“There is no need for that,” Nandor assured him with a dismissive wave of his hand. “The bathing pool is large enough to accommodate two people at once,” he pointed out. Guillermo’s eyes rounded, his heart speeding up again.

“Uhm, well,” the human dithered. He did not like the thought of bathing with Nandor? Did the human really think himself so superior to Nandor that he would refuse to attend communal bath with him? 

Then Nandor remembered abruptly that bathing was a thing which was done _naked_ , and he was unable to stop his eyes from roving over the human’s form again. It would be very difficult to conceal an erect penis in such a state of undress, and just the _thought_ of witnessing the full glory of Guillermo’s body had his penis already attempting to erect itself. Nandor did not want to risk his husband realizing how he lusted after him. That he should become fearful or, far more dangerously, begin to reckon the true extent of the powerful sway he held over the vampire

“I have reconsidered, actually, and in fact now believe we should bathe divided," Nandor decided. "But _you_ shall go first, not me. I have decreed it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Vampires Can't Get Infections, Ok
> 
> (I almost put "Nandor finally gets penetrated by Guillermo" as the chapter summary but then I decided today not to choose violence)


End file.
